


Worlds Apart

by eksley05



Series: Worlds Apart: The Series [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst and Feels, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 31
Words: 121,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26619526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eksley05/pseuds/eksley05
Summary: Sometimes, you're just doomed.
Relationships: Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak, Eric Cartman/Leopold "Butters" Stotch, Kyle Broflovski/Christophe "The Mole", Kyle Broflovski/Stan Marsh
Series: Worlds Apart: The Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937737
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	1. The Rock Show: Kyle

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally published on FFNet on August 12, 2008, and finished on November 12, 2009. This is also one of my favorite things I've ever written. It's not perfect, obviously it has its issues and could probably benefit from a little more editing, but I really do love it. I hope you do too.
> 
> Fair warning to those of you who don't like this format: Each chapter is in a different character's POV. Ten characters, three chapters each = 30 chapters, plus one extra for the epilogue. 
> 
> Happy reading! There will be another A/N at the very end.
> 
> (Spotify Playlist for all the chapter titles: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4yZ5AWQPP3YBv8sqj7dy3e?si=-u2ATW8SRTSzyJ_Gc0e1Pw&utm_source=copy-link)

I woke up early on Saturday morning—6:17 AM, to be exact—to the sound of ear-splitting thunder. I could almost feel my room vibrating with each loud _crack_ , although that could have been because of the hail smashing against my window, right above my head. Sitting up in my bed, my dark green comforter tightly wrapped around me due to the sudden sub-zero temperature of my room, I squinted sleepily through the glass at the sheets of water and ice pouring down outside. A burst of lightning nearly blinded me, and I groaned, laying down again and burying myself in my blankets, a headache beginning to throb in my skull. Of course it was storming outside today, what better way to celebrate my eighteenth birthday? Thunder rumbled overhead again, and I swore to Abraham I heard it say, _"Happy birthday, Kyle! Enjoy your headache; we all chipped in to get it for you!"_ Another painfully bright flash of lightning punctuated the storm's birthday message; I could see it even from underneath my blankets with my eyes shut. My window rattled as more hail attacked my house, and my headache got worse with each passing second. Finally, I just couldn't take it anymore; if I was going to get back to sleep I was going to need some Advil.

I got out of bed, still using my comforter for warmth, and shuffled across my room to my door. My bare feet were freezing, and as I pulled my bedroom door open and moved into the hallway, I was grateful that at least my house had carpeting in every room, not hardwood floors like Token's house. The hallway was dark, and I had to walk extra-slowly so I didn't trip over my blanket on my way down the stairs. There was a light on in the kitchen though, which confused me. Who was awake so early on a Saturday? I closed my eyes, my headache pounding away in my skull, and leaned against the doorframe.

"Kyle! You're up early! What's wrong, _bubbe_? Are you sick?"

I heard my mom's concerned voice, though she sounded ten times louder than usual. I gritted my teeth, trying to force my headache to _screw off_ out of sheer will, and croaked, "Just a headache. The storm."

"Oh, my goodness, on your birthday and everything! Go lay down in the living room, Kyle, I'll bring you some water and Advil."

I turned and made my way into the living room, sinking into the depths of our dark brown couch, curling into a ball, my head resting on the arm. I heard my mom's footsteps as she followed a few seconds later, then the sound of a glass being placed on the coffee table beside the couch. I sat up straighter and opened my eyes a crack, taking the two Advil I was being offered and swallowing them with some water. I leaned back on the couch, groaning something that sounded like, "Unghf." There was another deafening blast of thunder and I cringed.

"You don't look very well at all, _bubbe_ ," said my mom from somewhere above me. "Maybe you should postpone your birthday party."

I forced my eyes all the way open, ignoring the pain. "No!" I shook my head frantically, my wavy red hair falling across my face. Lifting a hand to brush it away, I said, slightly more calmly, "No. I'll be fine in time for it, later."

"But you're so pale." She reached over to touch my forehead, but I ducked.

"I'm _always_ pale, Mom, it's my skin," I said. "Really, I just need to sleep for a few hours. Everyone's supposed to get here at four. I have more than enough time."

"Well... If you're sure," she said, picking up my half-empty glass of water. "I'll be in the kitchen finishing your birthday cake if you need anything." She disappeared, and I let out a soft sigh of relief, settling back on the couch and closing my eyes. My party was too important this year. I'd been planning it for months. Not the actual party part—that was going to be pretty normal: cake, presents, hanging out with the guys—but what I was going to _do_ at the party. I was finally going to tell him.

It was kind of strange, when I really thought about it. Back in the middle of tenth grade, a bunch of us guys at Park High had all openly admitted to being gay, within a week. It had started with Butters, which hadn't been much of a surprise, in all honesty. The surprise came the next day, when he'd come to school holding hands with _Cartman_. Nobody had wanted to say much, but even if we'd suspected Cartman of preferring guys—which some of us had—we would _never_ have seen him with Butters. But they seemed happy, and, almost a year and a half later, they were still together. The next couple to come out had been Craig and Tweek, which had only been a shock to anyone who hadn't known them well. Craig was _very_ protective of his highly-caffeinated blond, ready to seriously injure anyone who even so much as _looked_ at Tweek the wrong way. They were still together too, after a brief issue last year involving Thomas (the new kid with Tourette's syndrome) and Craig's fear of real commitment.

I'd called Stan that night, and asked him to come over so I could talk to him. All of my friends coming out had gotten me thinking about _my_ sexual preference. The only time I'd ever _really_ liked a girl had been back in third grade, when I'd met Rebecca Cotswolds, the home-schooled girl. Since then, I hadn't found the opposite gender all that appealing. Coming to the conclusion that I, too, played for the other team, the first person I wanted to tell was, of course, my super best friend. Stan had come to my house, and we'd been up in my room for less than ten minutes when _he_ had told _me_ thathe was pretty sure _he_ was gay. I'd been shocked for about thirty seconds, and then I'd punched his arm lightly and told him to stop copying me. When I explained my reason for wanting him to come over, he'd laughed, I'd laughed and everything was fine. Our parents took it surprisingly well; I'd expected my mom to flip out, but she'd just sighed resignedly at me and told me to do whatever made me happy. Stan and I announced our news the next morning at school. Cartman was an asshole about it, of course, declaring that he'd _always_ known I was hot for my best friend, but Stan had immediately corrected him, telling him that he and I weren't a couple, and anyway, Cartman was with _Butters_. That had shut him up pretty fast. He was the only one who made it an issue though; even Wendy came up to Stan and congratulated him on being brave enough to come out.

The biggest shock was during lunch that day, when, after being subjected to intense Kenny-flirtation, Christophe had stood and loudly told him that even though he was indeed a " _'omosexual_ " he was not interested in blonds, even if Kenny _had_ finally gotten rid of his ratty old orange parka. Kenny had simply shrugged it off and went after Red, who was passing by, carrying her tray of food. Everyone and their dog had known that Kenny wanted anything that moved, but _Christophe_ liking _guys_? Bebe had been so distraught she'd burst into tears and run out of the cafeteria, Heidi and Wendy hurrying after her to make sure she was all right.

We'd all sort of formed one big group—me, Stan, Cartman, Butters, Craig, Tweek, Christophe, and Kenny. Clyde and Token hung out with us too, but they insisted that they were completely straight, though they had no problem with the rest of us. It was nice, having that much support. Especially now, after I'd made up my mind to finally let _him_ know how I felt. The storm raged on outside as I pulled my blanket tighter around me and drifted off, the Advil finally just starting to work its magic.

... ... ...

I woke up again at around one, according to the clock on the wall of my living room. It sounded like the storm had stopped. I uncurled myself from my sleeping position with a yawn, stretching my legs out on the couch. I stared up at the ceiling for a few seconds, thankful that my headache was gone, and then sat up, combing through my hair with both hands. I made a face. It was so greasy. Deciding that before I did anything else, I was having a shower, I stood and headed for the stairs, dragging my comforter behind me. I poked my head into the kitchen and waved at my parents, who were both sitting at the table.

"Happy birthday, Kyle," said my dad, smiling at me before looking back down at the newspaper.

"Yes, happy birthday, _bubbe_! How are you feeling?" my mom asked.

"My headache's gone. I'm going to shower," I said.

"Wake up Ike while you're up there," my mom called after me as I went upstairs.

I stopped halfway down the hall and kicked at Ike's bedroom door a few times with the heel of my right foot. "Ike!" I kicked it again. "Get up!" I heard a muffled groan from inside the room, and continued on to my own. I threw my comforter on my bed—I'd make it later—grabbed some clothes and a towel, and went to wash the grease out of my hair.

After I showered, dried my hair, and got dressed—black long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans, socks be damned—I went back downstairs. The kitchen clock read 1:58 PM. Ike and my mom were sitting at the table. He was eating cereal, the honey nut Cheerios box sitting in front of him, and she was doing Sudoku.

"Where's Dad?" I asked, taking a seat at the table as well.

My mom barely looked up from her number puzzle as she answered me. "Oh, he had to go into work, he's working on a very important case, you know."

"The dolphin one?" I reached over to snatch the cereal box from Ike. He glared at me, but I ignored him, pulling out a handful of Cheerios and eating them one at a time. He pulled the box back in front of him, and resumed reading the back of it.

"That's right. He wanted to be here for your birthday, of course, but you know how important dolphins are to your father."

Ike looked up from the cereal box, then. "Happy birthday," he said.

"Thanks." I nodded at him, then said to my mom, "Can you keep him out of the way when the guys get here?"

"Hey!"

My mom sighed, writing a number in one of the blank squares of her puzzle. "I can try, _bubbe_ , but I can't guarantee anything. It's his house too."

Ike shot me a triumphant look. I rolled my eyes, and stood up to leave the room. As I passed behind Ike, I dropped the remaining Cheerios in my hand down his shirt. He squealed, wriggling around in his chair to get them out. I snickered, heading back upstairs. My party was going to start in two hours. I had to get things ready. I had to get _me_ ready.

Once inside my room, the first thing I did was go straight to my closet. I looked at my reflection in the mirrored doors, chewing on my bottom lip. Christ, I was short. And so _skinny._ The only guy smaller than me was Tweek, and I was pretty sure that was because of his caffeine intake. I had no reason to be this skinny. What was wrong with me? I pulled on the bottom of my T-shirt. Should I wear something different? Should I wear socks? My eyes moved up, to my hair. Should I straighten it? I'd gotten rid of my Jew-fro; my hair was tamer now, though still wavy, and it still had a tendency to frizz. I leaned forward, inspecting it in the mirror. It didn't look frizzy now. Maybe I should just leave it wavy. I didn't look good with straight hair anyway, something we'd found out when Stan had still been dating Wendy, in junior high. I thunked my head again my closet doors. I was so _nervous_. This was a huge deal. What if he just laughed at me? I was almost tempted to just forget the whole thing. But no. This was all I'd been able to think of for so long, I _had_ to see it through, even if I ended up making things extremely awkward. We were all friends, right? Things would end up okay. Right?

It took me another half-hour to decide that the clothes I was wearing were fine, my hair was fine, and that if I didn't stop acting like an overly-self-conscious female I was going to kill myself.

... ... ...

Stan and Kenny were the first to show up; early, since Stan had had to go pick up Kenny from the other side of town, and he never had been a good judge of time.

"Happy birthdaaay!" my best friend sang at me. "God, Kyle, you're so old now!"

"Oh, shut up," I said with a smile as he and Kenny came inside and slipped off their shoes. I shut the front door and followed them into my living room. Kenny perched on the edge of the couch.

"No, dude, seriously. I feel so little compared to you guys." Stan looked from me to Kenny.

It was true, that Kenny and I were older than Stan. Actually, weirdly enough, Kenny was the second-oldest out of all of us, being just barely a month younger than Christophe, though you would never know it by how he acted. And Stan, for all his maturity, was actually the second-youngest, being a month and ten days older than Tweek.

"Little?" I snorted, moving over so I was right next to Stan. The top of my head was _just_ at the same level as his chin. Kenny giggled, and hopped off the couch to stand on my other side. He was maybe three inches taller than me. I felt like a midget, standing in between them.

"Maybe I should've gotten you some high heels for your birthday." Stan laughed, and I socked him in the arm.

"Don't you even." I glared, but I couldn't stop myself from laughing too. I nodded at the gift-wrapped box Stan had tucked under his left arm, and said, "So what _did_ you get me?"

"It's from both of us!" Kenny said, going back to the couch.

"Okay," I amended. "What did you and Kenny get me?"

"I'm not _telling_ you, dude!" Stan held the box up above his head as I reached for it. I stood on my toes, but even then I could barely scrape the bottom of the box with the tips of my fingers.

Giving up, I grumbled, "Fine. I'll just _wait_ then." Stan lowered the box and I made one last grab for it, but the trouble with being friends with someone since preschool is that they get to know you better than you know yourself, sometimes. Stan tossed the box over to Kenny, who caught it easily.

I spun around, but before I could even try to tackle Kenny, my mom said from behind me, "Oh, hello Stan, Kenny. How are you boys doing today?"

"We're good, Mrs. Broflovski, thank you," Stan said, moving past me and taking the box from Kenny. He walked over to where my mom was standing and handed it to her. "This is for Kyle, but he's not allowed to open it yet."

"All right, I'll put it with the others," said my mom as she went upstairs. "There's some Coke and Sprite in the fridge if you boys are thirsty." Kenny made a beeline for my kitchen at those words.

"You're such a douche!" I said to Stan, swatting at him again. "You just wait until _your_ birthday! Maybe I won't even remember to get you a present!"

Stan just shook his head with another laugh, sitting on my couch and picking up the guitar controller for my Rock Band game. "Play with me?" he asked, gesturing to the drums.

I sighed, but moved to the TV, turned on my PlayStation 3, and dragged the drum set over to the couch. Sitting beside Stan, I picked up the drumsticks and gave him a look. "You know I don't have rhythm."

Stan shrugged. "You could always sing."

I shuddered. "No way, dude." I tapped the plastic drum set with one of the drumsticks as we waited for the game to load.

"It's no fun without a singer," Stan said. "Kenny!"

Kenny poked his head through the doorway leading to the kitchen. "Yeah?" He took a gulp of Coke from the can in his hand.

"Come be the singer for our band." Stan motioned to the microphone lying on my living room floor. Kenny's eyes brightened, and he finished off the rest of Coke in less than ten seconds. He moonwalked his way across the room and picked up the microphone, and the three of us started rocking out hardcore. Well, as hardcore as we could with me screwing up the beat every two minutes.

When the doorbell rang a little while later, I left Stan and Kenny to be a rock duo while I went to answer the door. Craig, Tweek, Clyde, and Token were standing on my doorstep. Craig was carrying Tweek's ever-present thermos of coffee for him in one hand, and a present that I could only assume was for me in the other. Tweek was shivering beside him, as usual, though he was much less twitchy now that he was dating Craig. Still, it was a wonder he didn't drop the gift bag he was holding.

"Hey," I said, standing back to let them all in.

"Hey, happy birthday man," Clyde said, handing me a present.

"Thanks," I said. Resisting the urge to open it right then and there, I set it on the floor beside the stairs. Craig, Tweek, and Token piled theirs around it, and before I gave in to temptation, I led them all into my living room, where Kenny was doing his best rendition of "Ballroom Blitz".

"There's Coke and Sprite in the fridge, and you can go ahead and make some coffee if you need to, Tweek," I said, nodding at him. He twitched, and gave me a grateful smile. I continued, "As soon as everyone gets here, we'll figure out what kind of pizza we're ordering. " The doorbell rang again, and I returned to my front hallway, calling over my shoulder, "No anchovies, Stan!"

"Wuss!" he yelled back.

I rolled my eyes, and pulled open my front door to see Christophe, dressed as usual from head to toe in black, with a lit cigarette between his lips, holding something wrapped in newspaper. He nodded at me, finishing his cigarette and crushing it underneath one of his black boots before speaking.

" _Bon anniversaire_ , Broflovski," he said, holding out the bundle of newspaper. I looked down at it, and then back up at him uncertainly. He raised an eyebrow at me. "A present, for you. Zat is customary for one's birthday, yes?"

I blushed, feeling stupid. Hastily, before he could see, I grabbed the present from him, putting it with the rest in the pile on the floor. I deliberately took longer than I needed to, trying my hardest to calm myself down. When I felt more confident that I wasn't going to make a fool of myself, I straightened up, and turned to tell Christophe about the drinks in the fridge, and the pizza, but he had already kicked off his boots and made himself at home in my living room. Of course, he'd left the door open, because that was the considerate kind of person he was. I was about to close it when I spotted Cartman's mom's minivan turning the corner. I waited in the doorway as Cartman and Butters hopped out and made their ways up my driveway. I noticed with surprise that they were both holding something gift-wrapped. I'd expected Cartman to just stick his name on whatever Butters got me, not get me a present of his own.

"Hey, there, Kyle! Happy birthday!" Butters exclaimed happily when they reached me.

"Hey, Butters. Thanks." I pointed behind me. "Just put the presents in the pile."

"Happy birthday, Jew," Cartman said, kicking my front door shut behind him and adding his present to the others.

"Thanks, Fatass." I ignored Cartman's howl of indignation and headed back into my living room, where Clyde was taking his turn at the microphone, trying valiantly to sing "Paranoid". Christophe was tapping at the drums lazily, yet managing to hit every single note perfectly. Stan had refused to relinquish his hold on the guitar. Butters had claimed the recliner, and was happily watching them play. Token was sitting on the couch beside Christophe, and Craig and Tweek were sitting on the floor in front of him, Craig's arm wrapped around Tweek's shoulders as the blond gulped coffee from his thermos.

"What kind of pizza do you guys want?" I asked as the song came to an end.

"Anchovies," Stan said with a grin.

" _Besides_ anchovies," I said.

"Pepperoni," Token said.

Craig and Clyde nodded their agreement, as Tweek yelped, "Oh, Jesus, too much pressure!" Craig leaned over and whispered something in his ear, and Tweek visibly relaxed. Craig petted the blond's hair affectionately before saying, "Tweeker likes Hawaiian."

"Zis _'awaiian_ ," Christophe said, twirling one of the drumsticks in his fingers. "Zat is 'am with pineapple?"

"Yeah, but Kosher Boy here can't eat ham," Cartman said from behind me, shoving me to the side to sit on the floor beside the recliner.

"So? Just because I can't eat it doesn't mean other people can't," I snapped at him. "So that's what, pepperoni, Hawaiian, and I just want plain cheese..."

" _Anchovies_!" Stan insisted. He picked another song, "Here It Goes Again", and Clyde tossed the microphone over to Token. Christophe remained the drummer.

"...and _anchovies_ ," I said, rolling my eyes. "Is that it?" Nobody appeared to have any last minute pizza preference, so I went to find my mom so I could tell her what everyone wanted. My eighteenth birthday party had officially begun.


	2. Happy Birthday: Craig

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was long ago pointed out to me that my French in this chapter is wrong, and I apologize for that. That's what I get for using Google Translate when I wrote this. My intended translations are at the very end of the chapter.

I'd been sitting in Kyle's living room for only about five minutes, and I was already going insane. I hadn't had a smoke since lunch at school yesterday—I'd stayed at Tweek's last night, and his parents, like everyone else's parents except for mine and maybe Kenny's, were real anti-smoking advocates. I could tell Tweek hated it too, but he never said anything to me. Most of the time I tried not to smoke when I was with him; when we were at my house or wherever, I'd wait until he was busy with something else and go outside for five or ten minutes, or until he was gone, just to be safe. I didn't want him going back home smelling like tobacco and his parents asking questions about it. My Tweeker had enough trouble with everyday stress without me adding to it. Besides, I'd put him through too much shit already. I owed it to him to _try_ to cut back on my nicotine intake, when I was around him at least. And I was around him a _lot_ , so that was a _huge_ sacrifice. He was worth it, though; of course he was. He was Tweek. I'd do pretty much anything for him, and usually I could control my urge to smoke, no problem.

But right now, I could smell the familiar scent of cigarettes coming off of Christophe, who was sitting behind me, and it was fucking with my senses. I could practically taste tobacco every time I swallowed. And of _course_ I didn't have my cigarettes _with_ me tonight. I'd figured I'd be able to get through Kyle's party without them, but I'd completely fucking forgot about our resident Frenchy. Jesus _Christ_ , I needed a smoke. Was this how Tweek felt whenever he didn't have coffee? I tightened my grip around his shoulders and promised myself that I would never let that happen.

It felt like forever before the song ended. As soon as I heard Christophe hit the last note on the drums, I turned around.

"Got a smoke?" I asked him. He rolled his eyes at me, but handed the drumsticks over to Token and stood up. After reassuring Tweek that I would be right back, I followed the only other smoker of our group (Kenny had quit a few months earlier, after dying of lung cancer. He said he'd gone to Hell and had to sit through hours of anti-smoking campaigns. I didn't blame him for quitting after that, and as much as I hated the idea of suffering the same fate, I just couldn't give it up.) out the Broflovski's front door, where we sat on the steps. He pulled out a carton of cigarettes and took one for himself, then held the box out for me. I resisted the temptation to take all of the remaining four—I was pretty sure Christophe would kill for his cigarettes. He was more addicted than I was. It wasn't until I had the stupid thing in my mouth that I realized I didn't have anything to light it with, either. I looked over at Christophe, and with another roll of his eyes, he tossed me his lighter. I lit the end of my cigarette and took a drag, savouring the taste.

"Fuck," I said, exhaling. "Thanks, man."

He ignored me, not that it mattered much to me. I hadn't come out here to talk. I just wanted to smoke my craving away in peace. I closed my eyes while I filled my lungs with nicotine, and felt myself relax almost instantly. _This_ was why I couldn't quit smoking completely, not even for Tweek. Cigarettes were to me what coffee was to him (we each thought the other's addiction was the most disgusting thing in the world), and I would never ask him to give up coffee for me. As I tapped my cigarette against the concrete, knocking the ash off the end of it, I couldn't stop myself from smiling; thinking about Tweek always made me happy.

"What 'as you so 'appy?"

"Huh?' I blinked, facing Christophe again. He was smirking at me, his smoldering cigarette in his left hand.

"You are smiling like a bimbo beetch who 'as just discovered zat ze cast from 'igh School Musical is coming to 'er 'ometown," he said.

I glared at him, and raised my free hand to flip him off. With a hoarse laugh, he stuck his cigarette between his lips.

" _Non_ , you did not seem like ze type," he said around the tobacco stick. "Zac Efron, 'e is too much of a pretty boy for you, _oui_?"

"Fucking Disney robot," I muttered, inhaling more so-bad-but-tastes-so-good tobacco just as Christophe blew little smoke rings into the air. He laughed again, and crushed his nearly-finished cigarette on the concrete step, only to have another one lit and in his mouth in less than a second. I glanced down at my own, only half-finished. Yeah, he was way more addicted than me.

"So why ze grin?"

"Just thinking," I said, my tone sharp enough to get the message of _I don't want to talk_ across.

"Zinking about?" Of course he didn't care if I wanted to talk or not. He met my glare with dark, unreadable eyes. I'd known him long enough to know that he didn't appreciate his tobacco breaks being interrupted by conversation either. If it weren't for the smirk, if I had to judge what Christophe felt by his eyes alone, there would be no way to tell that he was being a pain in the ass on purpose. This had to be payback for asking for a cigarette. I should have known there would be a price. Jesus, Christophe was a bigger asshole than I was, sometimes. I shrugged.

"Tweeker." I kept my eyes on his, silently daring him to make a crack about the fact that Tweek has the ability to make me smile just by being part of my thoughts. But he just nodded at me and looked away, down the empty street.

It didn't take me long to finish my cigarette after that. After inconspicuously tossing it in the bushes beside the steps, I was halfway to my feet when, without looking at me, Christophe held out his carton of cigarettes and his lighter. I looked from the three cigarettes left in the box to him and back again. He shook the box impatiently, but it was another few seconds before I took them and sat back down, lighting up a second time. Christophe's eyes were still focused on something down the road. I slid his cigarettes and lighter across the step to him; with barely a glance at them, he lit his third one, his second disappearing into the bushes on his side. It was another minute before he exhaled a cloud of smoke and turned back to me. His smirk was gone, his expression blank.

"You love 'im?" he asked, his tone serious.

I coughed, in the middle of sucking back another mouthful of tobacco. I hadn't been expecting him to ask me something like that. He waited silently while I tried to keep myself from dying on Kyle's doorstep. I finally caught my breath and, wiping my watering eyes, I said, "Yeah."

"And 'e loves you?" Christophe looked down at his boots and started flicking his silver lighter open and shut. I blinked at him. What kind of dumbass question was that?

"We've been together for a year and a half, Christophe. What do you think?" I tapped the ashes off the end of my cigarette again. Christophe slowly lifted his head and did the same. He mumbled something in French.

"Okay, I know you like speaking French around us because we can't understand a word you say, but if you're going to talk _to_ me you need to speak _English_ ," I said irritably. There was obviously something on his mind and I just wanted him to spit it out so I could go back inside to Tweeker.

He stretched his legs out and leaned back on his elbows. "'Ow do you know you love 'im for sure?"

"You think I don't love him?" I half-growled the words. Anybody who thought I didn't love Tweek was blind, deaf, and a complete fucking retard. Hadn't I proven that last year? I was ready to punch Christophe, but he shook his head.

" _Non_ , zat is not what I said. I want you to tell me 'ow you know it is love." One corner of his mouth turned up in an almost-smirk as he continued playing with his lighter, and he said quietly, " _Je veux savoir quel amour est..._ "

Fucking French. I sighed, tossing my cigarette on the ground and crushing it underneath the heel of my shoe. "I don't know. He makes me happy."

"But 'ow? 'Ow can someone else control your 'appiness?" he demanded. He didn't sound angry or sarcastic like he normally did; there was some kind of urgency in his voice that made it clear that he wanted to know the answer _now_. He was staring at me, intently, like I would have that magic answer. It might have been intimidating if I'd had a fucking clue what he was talking about.

"Look, man," I said, shrugging. "I don't know. It's just, like, if Tweeker's happy, I'm happy. If he's upset, I'll get upset." I paused. "And go beat the shit out of whatever upset him."

"You want to make 'im 'appy, zen," Christophe said thoughtfully.

"I would kill to make him happy." Thinking of Cartman, I added, "It's come pretty close a few times."

"Would you die for 'im?"

Without hesitating, I nodded. "He's Tweeker, man," I said, as if that explained everything. Which, to me, it did. Apparently it explained something to Christophe too, because he stopped asking me questions and started muttering to himself in French again. I left him sitting on the steps and stood to go back inside. As I turned the doorknob of the Broflovski's front door, I heard him say, " _Ce pourrait être..._?"

Whatever the fuck that meant.

... ... ...

"Get it, _get it_!" Token yelled, jabbing at the buttons on the Wii controller he was holding.

"I'm _trying_!" I yelled back, trying to navigate my character's way around the goddamn _moving_ level to get the floating ball. I had to keep jumping from platform to platform, going up, but I kept falling off and dying. Super Smash Brothers Brawl was _not_ my game. But Clyde had brought his Wii all the way over to Kyle's to play, and it was him and Stan against me and Token. We were losing miserably, mostly because of me. Token was actually not that bad; it was just me that sucked.

"Well, maybe if you weren't playing as _Peach_ you'd actually be able to help me _win_!" Token waved his controller at the TV screen. I stuck my middle finger in the air, and then refocused my attention on the game. _Yes_ , I was playing the game as the princess from the Mario games, but I hadn't _picked_ her. Kenny had insisted on choosing everyone's character. Peach and Kirby versus Falco from Star Fox and Sonic the hedgehog.

...No wonder Token and I were losing.

Finally, the word GAME! flashed on the screen. Token glared at me, but I just shrugged, and handed my controller over to Kenny, who jumped up from where he'd been sitting on the floor and looked around the room eagerly for a partner. Cartman and Butters had traded places, so he was on the recliner with Butters on the floor beside him. Clyde, Kyle, Tweek, and I were all sitting on the couch, and Stan and Token were on the floor in front of us. Christophe had separated himself from everyone else; he was sitting against the far wall.

"Someone play with me," Kenny whined. "Cartman?"

"Fuck that, dude, I'm getting more pizza," said Cartman, getting up.

"Like you need more pizza, fatass," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Shut up, _Craig_!" he said, glaring at me. I flipped him off. Tweek shivered beside me.

"You okay, Tweeker?" I asked, sliding an arm around him.

He smiled at me, one of those rare smiles of his, uninterrupted by twitching, that made his whole face light up. Fuck, I loved when he smiled like that. "Ngh! Yeah, I'm – I'm okay. I just need some more – more coffee."

"I'll get it," I said, ruffling his hair. I headed into the kitchen and grabbed a mug from one of the cupboards. Cartman was piling pizza slices onto a plate. I rolled my eyes at his back while I poured Tweek's coffee. It was amazing that he hadn't had a heart attack yet, it really was.

I'd just handed my blond the mug of coffee and sat back down on the couch when Kyle's mom appeared and announced that it was time for presents and then cake. Kyle jumped up excitedly and exclaimed, " _Sweet_!"

I snickered. Was Kyle turning eighteen or eight?

"Sit down, _bubbe_ ," said Mrs. Broflovski, pointing to the floor in the middle of the living room. Kyle sat while Stan and Kenny helped Mrs. Broflovski carry all the presents over to him. Christophe slowly made his way over to the couch and sat down in between Tweek and Clyde. Token turned off the video game and sat on the floor in front of us. Butters had a big smile on his face, and even Cartman stopped shoving pizza in his mouth. This was important.

Once Kyle had gotten through all the family presents—which mostly consisted of clothes and books, of course—Stan said, "'Kay, Kyle, your presents from us are all connected, so you have to open them in order."

I grinned at Tweek beside me. He gulped a mouthful of coffee. His green eyes were sparkling with the same excitement I felt. Stan passed Kyle the first present, the one from Butters. Kyle looked at it for a second, and then ripped it open. He lifted the lid off the box and peered inside. He looked confused, and I couldn't help laughing. He looked up at me and I just shrugged.

"A newspaper?" Kyle picked up a second item. "And a...recipe for Yorkshire pudding?" He looked from it to Stan, who just smiled and handed him Token's gift. Kyle tore off the paper with a little less enthusiasm.

"A soundtrack of Broadway musicals?" He looked at Token now. "Dude, come on."

"Don't you like Broadway?" Token asked innocently. Kyle sighed, and turned to his mom, who was watching us from the doorway. "Mom?"

"Now, now, _bubbe_ , your friends put a lot of thought into these presents for you," she said.

"But—"

"Come on, Kyle, open Tweek's now," Stan said, holding out the gift bag.

"Oh, Jesus!" Tweek hid his face in my shoulder. I took his mug from him before he spilled coffee all over the couch and put it on the table beside me.

"A stuffed beaver..." Kyle pulled out the animal from the bag and blinked at it. "You guys, what's going on?"

Tweek whimpered. I leaned down so my mouth was right beside his ear and whispered, "It's okay, Tweeker. This is what's supposed to happen. We're supposed to confuse him. Don't worry. Okay?"

He twitched again and I held him closer to me. I raised my head and caught Christophe's eye. His eyes went from me to Tweek, and then without saying a word he looked back at Kyle, who had just opened Cartman's present—an apple. My present to him was next, and then Clyde's. We'd each gotten him a framed picture, one of Theodore Roosevelt, and one of Franklin Delano Roosevelt. Kyle looked about ready to either cry or kick us all out of his house by that point.

"Okay, second-last one," Stan said, holding out Christophe's newspaper-wrapped gift. Kyle hesitated before taking it, and I almost didn't blame him. He held it in both hands for a few seconds, and then ripped off the paper with a sigh. Something shiny and red fell out and his eyes got big. He held up a ring, with a dark red stone, and stared at Christophe with his mouth slightly open. Everyone's eyes, including mine, followed his gaze. Christophe shifted his weight and looked uncomfortable with all the attention.

"What?" he said finally. "It is not zat impressive, just a ring. A _garnet_ ring," he said, putting emphasis on the word and raising an eyebrow at Stan, who blinked.

"Uh," he said. "Right. Yeah. Okay, so." He picked up the last present, and gave it to Kyle, who shook his head a few times and then slipped the ring onto his finger. He looked around at all of us one more time, and then ripped the paper off of a cardboard box. He took out a piece of paper and I could see his eyes move across it.

"Read it out loud," Stan suggested. Kyle glanced at him before doing just that.

"'Happy eighteenth birthday, Kyle.'" he started. "'Did you know that South Park, Colorado is only about eighteen hundred miles away from New York City? That's a hundred miles for every year of your life! In honour of this little-known fact, all of your eighteenth birthday presents are New York-themed. Did you know the state mammal is a beaver? Now you do. And now you have your own beaver to play with!'" Kyle looked down at the stuffed beaver, and then continued reading. "'And the state fruit is an apple. Did you know states got an official fruit? Weird, hey? Wanna know something else weird? Theodore Roosevelt, our 26th president, and Franklin Delano Roosevelt, our 32nd president, were _both_ born in New York—and they were only distant cousins! Insert Twilight Zone music here.'"

Kenny started humming the theme to the Twilight Zone. Clyde and Token tried to join in about halfway through, but they were both laughing too hard.

"'New York gets a special state gem too—the garnet.'" Kyle glanced at the ring on his finger and up at Christophe for a split-second. "'And of course you know all about Broadway, right? Good. Oh, and newspapers and Yorkshire pudding aren't associated with New York, it's just in their names. Get it? _New_ spapers? _York_ shire pudding? Shut up, Kyle, we're funny.'" He laughed. "'But in case you're wondering, no, this isn't it. Look in the envelope, Kyle. You know you want to.'" He finished reading and put down the piece of paper. He pulled a big brown envelope out of the box and once again looked around at everyone in the room.

"Am I going to regret this?" he asked with a small smile.

"Oh, for Christ's sake just open it, you pussy!" Cartman said impatiently. Mrs. Broflovski coughed from the doorway and Cartman gave her an innocent smile. She just sighed. Even Kyle's mom had gotten used to the fact that there was no way Cartman would ever change.

Kyle ripped open the envelope and dumped the contents on the floor. He picked up one of the items and looked at it for two seconds before his eyes widened and he looked at Stan, then at his mom. "Oh, my God, are you serious?!"

"Happy birthday, _bubbe_ ," Mrs. Broflovski said with a smile. "You're going to New York!"

Kyle leapt to his feet, but there was nowhere for him to go. He sat back down on the floor and started laughing hysterically. I rolled my eyes, but I was happy too. Stan had come up with the idea after the epic failure of Kyle's birthday party last year. Nobody liked to think about last year; it had been that awful. A couple weeks after the disaster, Stan had gotten everyone—except Kyle, of course—to go over to his place. He'd said he wanted to make Kyle's eighteenth birthday extra-awesome, since his seventeenth had sucked so hard, and had outlined the plan. We would all chip in for plane tickets and hotel reservations and have a month in New York, with just us. Of course we were all for it; we'd get to go to fucking _New York_ for an entire month. (Clyde and Token were especially excited, because they'd get to have their birthdays there.) I'd had practically no social life at all for a year, since I'd had to actually get a job (at Harbucks, of all places. How ironic is that?) and had to work so much over there to get the money—I'd had time for Tweek, and not much else, but it was so going to be worth it. A month. In New York. With no parents, with just friends, with _Tweeker_.

_Fuck_ , I was excited.

* * *

_Je veux savoir quel amour est._ \- I want to know what love is.

_Ce pourrait être...?_ \- Could it be...?


	3. God Must Hate Me: Christophe

I watched them all from where I sat on the Broflovski's couch, as they celebrated, laughing and speaking so quickly every other sentence was unintelligible gibberish. I allowed a small smile to cross my lips. And they complained about never being able to understand me. My eyes passed over Craig, who was in the middle of explaining something to Clyde. He was gesturing wildly with one arm, the other wrapped tightly around Tweek's skinny waist. He looked too skinny, that one, even skinnier when he was next to the Tucker boy. As I watched, Tweek's entire body spasmed and he nearly fell backwards. Craig stopped talking mid-sentence and focused all his attention on his shivering lover, holding him and petting his hair, all the while talking quietly to him. I saw Tweek's shaking slow, and then stop completely. Craig kissed his forehead lightly and then continued talking to Clyde as if there had been no interruption.

They glowed, the two of them. It didn't take a genius to see the happiness radiating off them, or the genuine affection in their eyes whenever one looked at the other. Craig had said to me earlier that he knew he loved the other boy because Tweek made him happy, and he wanted to make Tweek happy as well. I could see the truth of that statement now.

I shifted my gaze to the fat boy, Cartman, and his boyfriend, Butters. Was it truly love between them, too? They were such opposites; I did not see how it could be. Yet, they had been together as long as the other couple, so there must be _something_ there, I supposed. They did not, at first glance, appear to be as close as Craig and Tweek—there was no constant touching with these two. But I watched Butters' face light up as he said something to a laughing Stan, and from beside him, I saw Cartman glance at him, and there was an uncharacteristic softness in his eyes. It was only for a second, but it had been clear. Even that bastard Cartman had found love.

How was it, I wondered, that someone like Eric Cartman was allowed to experience real love? How was it possible for a soulless bastard to feel what it was to love someone, and to have them love you in return? I did not claim to be a righteous human being—I was a mercenary, after all, and damn good at what I did. I had the skills, the strength, the bravery it took to carry out my missions, which sometimes involved death. But I did not kill for pleasure; I took no joy in ending lives. It was simply work. But Cartman, he too, had killed, for no reason other than to take revenge upon those who angered him. I was wary of this boy; never in the nine years that I'd known him had I let my guard down around him. He'd let those motherfucking guard dogs kill me during the war, and I still had my doubts that it had been an accident. How could someone like this deserve love? It was God's doing; it had to be. Fucking God. All He ever did was make me miserable. I clenched my fists, fighting to keep myself under control.

"Hey, 'Tophe!"

I blinked, and turned my head to see Kenny beside me. I hadn't felt him sit down on the couch. I shook my head, trying to clear all thoughts from it. I didn't like that Kenny had been able to sneak up on me, nor did I appreciate his presumptuous shortening of my name. I looked at him, my eyes cold, but he seemed unfazed. He grinned at me and slid closer on the couch. I instinctively lifted my legs up from the floor and turned my entire body to face him. "What do you want, McCormick?"

"That was an interesting gift choice," he said, raising an eyebrow at me. I kept my face impassive. "How much did that set you back, 'Tophe?"

"It was an 'eirloom," I said sharply. I did not like his tone. He spoke like he knew something.

"Oh? So you just happened to conveniently have a shiny ring with the state gem of New York in it somewhere in your little apartment?" Kenny smirked at me. "Yeah, maybe I'd buy that if you still lived with your mom, but you don't, so..."

"I do not live with 'er anymore, but zat does not mean I never see 'er," I said, a defensive growl in my tone. "Ze ring belonged to an ancestor of 'ers."

Kenny rolled his eyes at me. "Oh, come on, you hate your mom. She's the whole reason you moved out in tenth grade, right? And anyway, if that ring really was a 'family heirloom'..." He used his fingers to make quotation marks in the air. "I doubt she would let you use it for a birthday present."

I opened my mouth, but before I could respond, he shrugged at me and said, "That and I saw it in the window of the jewellery store last week."

"Sheet," I muttered, tensing, automatically scanning the room to see if anyone could overhear our conversation. Everyone appeared to be otherwise occupied—Cartman had joined Butters' conversation with Stan; Craig was still telling some story to Clyde, with Tweek gulping coffee beside him; Token was talking to Kyle...

"So come on," Kenny said, and I returned my eyes to him. He stretched his arms out in front of him and continued, "We were supposed to get Kyle stupid little mini-presents. Why did you get him a ring that looks like it cost more than it would take to feed Cartman for a year?"

"What was I supposed to do?" I retorted. "I 'ad to get 'im somezing to do with garnets, did I not?"

"Well, yeah, but nobody said you had to go get him an actual _garnet_ ," said Kenny. "Tweek didn't go out and get him a real beaver, did he?"

I glowered at him. "And what would you 'ave 'ad me get 'im, zen? A cheap, tacky knockoff?"

"Yeah," he said, tilting his head and looking at me like _I_ was the crazy one.

"Well, at least one of us 'as some class." I dug into the pocket of my cargo pants, and then remembered that all my cigarettes were gone. Damn.

"So if we were doing this for Butters, you'd have gotten him a real garnet, then?" Kenny asked.

I glared down at him, grateful for my height advantage even when sitting down. It was very useful when I needed to be intimidating. But Kenny's gaze never wavered, and I wondered if perhaps, due to his frequent tendency to die and return unscathed, he was not easily intimidated. I looked up, at the redhead in the center of the room. He was wearing the ring, and his eyes were bright with happiness as he held out his hand in front of him. Something stirred inside me at the sight of him looking so happy. His green eyes met mine and he turned red almost instantly. Breaking eye contact he turned away, to Stan. I let my eyes linger on him for a few seconds longer before answering Kenny with a shrug.

"I knew it," he said, grinning at me again. "You _like_ him!"

I considered denying it, but decided there was no point. It seemed that Kenny possessed an unnatural gift for seeing right through people. It was disconcerting; as a mercenary, I'd always prided myself on my ability to keep my true emotions hidden. Emotions were weakness. I could not afford weakness, not in my line of work. And yet... "Not zat it is any of your business," I said.

"Who would have thought that Christophe DeLorne would actually have a crush on someone?" Kenny said, shaking his head. "You should tell him."

"I was planning on it," I said, after a moment. Just how much information did I want to give Kenny? I'd heard everyone say that he was always the one to go to for advice, that he would never betray a confidence, but how much could you really trust another person with? There was no guarantee that he would not use it for blackmail, or worse. I'd been taught to keep things to myself, to never let anyone else in. ...But on the other hand, how could I ever truly know love if I refused to trust? You could not have one without the other.

"You were?" Kenny suddenly looked even more interested. I looked away, growing uncomfortable. "When?"

I hesitated. I was going against everything I'd ever been told, everything my entire personality was based on. I cast my eyes around the living room again. In a rare display of affection, Cartman pulled a blushing Butters into a quick embrace; on the other side of the room, Craig was whispering something in Tweek's ear. Making up my mind, I turned back to Kenny and said, in a low voice, "Today." I waited for him to leap from the couch and run to tell Kyle of this news, but he did the opposite; leaning back on the couch, he looked at me seriously. It was strange, seeing such solemnity in his expression.

He didn't say anything for almost a full minute, just watched me intently. Straightening, I challenged his stare with one of my own. He nodded as if he understood something.

"Kyle is one of my best friends," he said. "If you hurt him, I'll decapitate you with your own rusty shovel."

I snorted. "And if I kill you first?"

He smiled, but I saw just a hint of melancholy in his blue eyes. "Won't help." Looking away, he gestured to the middle of the room. I followed his gaze to see the back of Kyle's head as he headed upstairs. Alone.

"Here's your chance," Kenny said, hopping up from the couch. The usual mischievous sparkle in his eyes had returned, and he was grinning at me again. "Go tell him how much you _love_ him!" I shot a glare of death at him, but he simply laughed and went to talk to Clyde. I watched him carefully as he said something to the brunet boy, but he didn't appear to be telling him of our conversation, as neither one so much as glanced at me. Perhaps Kenny really could be trusted.

And perhaps he was right. Perhaps I should take this opportunity to talk to Kyle, now, seeing as he was alone. I stood, and with annoyance I noticed that my heart rate had sped up. This was ridiculous. I did not get nervous. I had faced death, and worse, guard dogs, without fear. Talking to Kyle Broflovski should not bring out these feelings of anxiety. I moved towards the stairs.

"Ay! Frenchy!"

I turned at the sound of Cartman's voice, my right hand unconsciously forming a fist. He was glaring at me, while Butters stood beside him, fidgeting. I crossed my arms and glared right back at the fat boy, staying silent. I was not in the mood for his antagonism.

"What the fuck was that all about?" he demanded, waving an arm in the direction of the gifts and wrapping paper strewn about the living room floor.

"Obviously Broflovski 'asn't 'ad a chance to clean up yet," I said, glancing down.

"Goddammit, you know what I'm talking about!" Cartman took a menacing step forward. I stood my ground. "What do you think you're doing, getting him a goddamn _ring_?"

"Aw, c—c'mon, Eric," Butters stuttered nervously. "It's sure a pretty ring, and, well, Kyle likes it—"

"I don't care if he likes it or not!" Cartman said angrily. "I care about the fact that Frenchy just ruined any chance of Jewboy getting _me_ something good for _my_ birthday!" He pointed at me, his finger inches away from my chest. "You were supposed to get him something stupid and cheap, so the whole trip to New York would be more impressive. But you had to get him that _ring_ , which was _obviously_ not cheap. I got him an _apple_ , Frenchy. An apple! So now for _my_ birthday, he's going to remember that you got him a ring, and I got him an apple, and he's going to get me a goddamn fucking _kiwi_ or something. I _hate_ kiwis!"

Relief flooded through me as I smirked at him. It seemed as though only Kenny had suspected anything about my choice of gift. All Cartman was concerned about was how it affected him. Typical. I rolled my eyes at him, choosing not to respond to his inane logic, and walked away as he shouted after me.

"Shut up, Fatass!" Kenny called across the room as I passed him and Clyde. He smiled at me as Cartman howled something incomprehensible. I nodded at him, continuing on my way upstairs. I'd never been upstairs in Kyle's house before, but his room was not hard to find, seeing as how there was a sign on it reading, "KYLE'S ROOM". I smiled to myself. How convenient. The door was slightly open, and I lifted my arm to knock, when I heard voices from inside.

"I can't believe you guys did this." That was Kyle. There was the sound of things being moved, and he said, as if to himself, "Goddammit, where is it?"

"It was the least we could do, after last year." I blinked and looked at the door in confusion, my arm still in the air. When had Stan gone upstairs? The last I'd seen of the Marsh boy he'd been talking to...

Cartman and Butters. I let my arm fall to my side. Damn. He must have followed Kyle upstairs while Cartman had been bitching at me about the ring. I sighed, and was about to leave—God had screwed with me yet again—when Kyle spoke again.

"Last year wasn't your fault, though. If it was anyone's fault, it was Cartman's." A pause. "How did I manage to get pizza sauce on the _back_ of my shirt?"

"Just wear the green one, dude."

Silence for a few seconds, and then, "Kyle... I have to tell you something." Stan's voice was shaky, and I could hear apprehension in his tone.

"What's up, dude?" Kyle sounded concerned. "You okay?"

"I..."

I took a step closer to the door. Stan sounded like he was about to divulge a secret, and while Kenny might not use secrets for blackmail, I had no qualms about that sort of thing.

"I think... I think I love...you."

I backed up quickly, running into the wall. I stared at the door. Had I heard right? Had Stan Marsh just admitted to having feelings for his best friend? My eyes narrowed. _Damn_ him. And damn _Him_. I looked up, at the ceiling, and silently cursed God. That son of a bitch had fun making my life hell. What chance did I possibly have against Kyle's self-proclaimed 'Super Best Friend'? It took all of my strength to appear outwardly calm as I moved down the hallway. Inside, I was seething. Fucking God. Fucking Stan. Fucking love. Fuck it all. I descended the stairs quickly, going straight to the front door. I had just finished lacing up my boots when I heard Kenny say from beside me, "'Tophe? Where are you going?"

"'Ome," I said shortly, reaching for the doorknob. Kenny slipped in front of me, blocking my way. I growled at him, but he didn't move.

"What happened? Did you tell him?" He looked concerned and confused.

" _Non_ , I did not have ze chance," I said, barely able to contain the level of bitterness in my voice. I hated how hard it was all of a sudden to keep my emotions under control.

"What happened?" Kenny asked again.

Why did he have to be so stubborn? I could see that he was not going to get out of my way until I answered him. I ground my teeth together angrily and spat, "Zere is someone else interested in 'im. I 'eard 'is 'ole confession of love from ze 'allway." I nodded at the door, making a silent demand, and Kenny moved to the side, confusion still on his face as I wrenched the door open. "I hope 'e and Stan are very 'appy togezer," I said sarcastically. I slammed the door behind me. Walking quickly—I wanted to put distance between me and Kyle's house as quickly as I could—I headed in the direction of the nearest convenience store. I needed some fucking cigarettes. My phone vibrated in my pocket and I pulled it out, glancing at the caller ID.

"Ze Mole," I answered.

"Christophe," Gregory said crisply. "I have an assignment for you."

"Where?" I crossed the road, paying no attention to the car I cut off.

"Your flight to New York is at one PM on Monday, correct?"

I muttered a, " _Oui_ ," not wanting to think about having to spend a month in New York with the new couple of Kyle and Stan.

"We've received information that someone will be transporting stolen jewels on that flight. You must not let them get to New York with them."

I snorted. "Stolen jewels? From 'ere?"

Gregory laughed condescendingly. I hated him some days. "No," he said. "They were stolen from a museum here in London. We managed to track the culprit to his hideout, but there were too many for us to go in to retrieve the jewels safely. However, we did learn of the intent to sell them in New York. We almost caught the thief before he made it onto the flight to Colorado, but unfortunately, he got away from us. That's where you come in."

"And what does zis thief look like?" I demanded.

"I've emailed you a photograph," said Gregory. "Keep in mind, though, Christophe, that he will most likely be in disguise, and wary of being caught. He knows we're on to him now. He'll be more careful."

"Is 'e dangerous?" There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Gregory?"

"No more dangerous than you, I suppose," was the ambiguous response.

I hung up on him, shoving my phone back into my pocket. He was an infuriating bastard, but he got me work, which then got me money. And at least now I would have something to concentrate on, and not have to watch Stan throw himself at Kyle on the flight to New York. I quickened my pace, wanting to hurry and pick up more cigarettes, so I could get back home soon, and see who I was to be rescuing stolen jewels from this time.


	4. Almost: Stan

The second the words were out of my mouth, I cringed, squeezing my eyes shut. I wanted to take back the last three minutes and start over. What had I been _thinking_? I hadn't planned on telling Kyle anything about how I felt when I followed him upstairs, I really hadn't. I'd just wanted to talk to him some more about New York, and how much fun it was going to be. Not confess my undying love for my _best friend_. I mean, of course it had been on my mind; it's not like that's something I could just ignore, especially when I'd been feeling it for months. But still, I could have picked a better time than now, at his _birthday party_ for Christ's sake, to admit it to him.I was so glad that, at that moment, I was sitting down, on the edge of Kyle's bed. If I'd been standing, I was pretty sure my legs would have given out; awkward tension and I never did get along very well. And I could guarantee that my relationship— _friendship_ —with Kyle was going to be nothing _but_ awkward tension now. Ugh, what was _wrong_ with me? I should have just kept my mouth shut.

But, he'd been standing there, and he'd just put on his green T-shirt that I liked so much because it matched his eyes, and he'd looked so happy and so... _amazing_. Next to Tweek, Kyle was the shortest and skinniest out of all of us—even Butters had grown up to be taller—but it worked for him. He wouldn't be the same if he was any taller than the five foot three inches he was, and as much as he bitched about looking anorexic, he didn't look crack-addict skinny. His naturally pale skin always looked even paler coupled with his bright red wavy hair—not a Jew-fro anymore; it had taken him years, but he'd finally managed to tone down the curls—and his eyes were _so_ green... Even with my eyes shut I could picture him perfectly, down to the horrified expression I was pretty sure he had on his face right now.

"Um."

Oh, God. I brought my hands up to grasp fistfuls of my black hair. My stomach gurgled a warning at me and I fought to control myself. No. I was _not_ going to get sick this time. I opened my eyes, staring at Kyle's bedroom floor. I pulled at the edge of his comforter while I waited for the feeling to fade before I opened my mouth to speak.

"I can't take that back, can I?" I tried to laugh, even a little bit, but I couldn't.

He was silent for a few minutes, and I wished that a space station would mistake me for Kenny and come crashing down on _my_ head. When he finally did say something, his voice was soft.

"Do you want to?"

He didn't _sound_ horrified. Slowly, I lifted my head to look at him. He was leaning against the wall next to his bedroom door, watching me carefully. I shook my head after a second, my gaze drifting from his face to the floor again. "...No."

"How long?" he asked. I saw his feet as he moved from the wall to sit beside me on his bed. I shrugged.

"A while."

There was silence. Awkward silence, just like I knew there would be. Jesus Christ, well, this _sucked_. Kyle's eighteenth birthday party was supposed to be amazing, and instead I'd had to fuck it all up with my stupid mouth. I'd really, _really_ been hoping that the Marsh family curse my dad had been rambling about a couple weeks ago had just been bullshit, but it seemed like it was coming true.

* * *

" _Stan," he said to me, stumbling through the living room on his way to the kitchen to get another beer—not that he needed it. "Yer almost a man now. The time'z come for you to unnerstand why me and your gramps are—" He hiccupped. "—the way we are."_

" _Because you're an alcoholic and Grandpa's senile?" I said with a sigh, leaning to the side to try to see past him. He was blocking the TV._

" _Nonono." He shuffled forward and fell onto the couch beside me, facing me. "Iz the_ curse _."_

_Rolling my eyes, I said tiredly, "What curse?" I didn't really care, but he obviously did, and the best way to handle my dad when he was drunk and stupid was to just let him say whatever retarded thing he needed to say and not argue with him._

" _Th'Marsh curse," he said, slurring a little. "All Marsh men are_ doomed _, doomed to grow up to be..." He waved one of his arms in the air dramatically._

" _Retarded?" I offered, wondering where my mom was. I wished she would come and make my dad go away._

" _Yes!" He sat up and leaned closer to me. I coughed as the scent of alcohol invaded my personal space. "The link, the_ link _between our brainz'n'our mouthz_ severz." _He made a chopping motion, hitting his wrist with his other hand. "It happenz_ fast _, Stan. Enjoy yer brainz now, while you can. Soon you'll be jus...like..." He trailed off, slumping back against the couch and falling asleep. I rolled my eyes, and got up to go find my mom so she could drag him off to their room. Again._

* * *

I hadn't told anybody about that night; not even Kyle, so we could laugh about how stupid it sounded. It was one of my dad's declarations that was _too_ stupid to ever admit to anybody. There'd been a few over the years. The Marsh family curse? Yeah, right. Curses weren't real. But maybe this _was_ real, maybe it was happening to me right now. Blurting out my feelings to Kyle at a time like this sure _seemed_ like something that would happen if my brain-mouth link got severed. Maybe...

Wait. _Wait_. I groaned. Was I honestly taking something my drunken dad had said seriously? I had a hard time taking him seriously when he was _sober_. I needed to pull myself together. There was no such thing as the Marsh family curse; I'd just accidentally told Kyle something I'd meant to keep secret. Kyle was my best friend. We'd been through almost everything together. We could get past this. Laugh it off. I tried to ignore the sharp pang I felt, and the way my brain was screaming at me that I didn't _want_ to just laugh it off, I wanted something _real_.

"Stan..." Kyle said.

I couldn't work out what was in his tone. I forced myself to look up again, into his eyes. Kyle looked sad, and I was pretty sure I knew what was coming. I shook my head. I didn't want to hear the rejection. "No, dude," I said. "Don't. Just forget I said anything. It's cool." Except it wasn't. My stomach flipped again.

Kyle sighed. "Did you mean it?"

I could lie. I mean, I could _try_ , I could tell him that Cartman put me up to it or something, but chances were he'd see right through it. Kyle was pretty smart that way. He could always tell when something was bullshit, and he'd keep asking questions until he found the truth. So I could either lie to my best friend and sit here while he logically figured out that I was lying and made me tell the truth, or I could save all that time and embarrassment and just suck it up and start with honesty. My eyes on the floor again, I nodded twice, not trusting my voice.

"Stan, you're my best friend." Kyle paused. I was pretty sure I was blushing; my face felt hot. I wanted to disappear. After a few seconds—though it seemed a million times longer—he continued, "And if things were...different, then maybe..." He trailed off. He sounded confused, like he couldn't figure out how to put into words what he was trying to say.

Wait. What had he said? My head snapped up again to look at him, but now he was looking down at the floor. _"If things were different."_ That didn't sound like what I'd been anticipating: _"Stan, I don't feel that way about you; you're my best friend."_ It sounded like maybe he _did_ feel the same way. Or maybe he _could_ , if things were different...

"Different how?" I tried to keep my tone neutral, even though my heart was racing.

He lifted his head and looked at me, smiling faintly. "Your timing just sucks, dude." His cheeks turned pink, and he started twisting some of his hair around his finger. "I kind of... There's somebody..."

"Oh," I said, understanding. At least, I was pretty sure I understood. I bit my lip. Kyle turned redder.

"But, but now I don't – don't know," he stuttered. "I was going to tell him today, that I had... But if you really...meant what you said, maybe I shouldn't..." He raked through his hair with both hands and lowered his head. "Maybe I shouldn't," he repeated softly, though it sounded like he wanted to do just the opposite.

"No. Dude," I said, feeling awful. I hadn't meant to screw with Kyle's emotions like that. I'd had no idea that he'd wanted someone else—pretty badly, judging by his reaction right now. "You should."

"But you—" he started, still looking down.

I interrupted him. "Don't worry about me. Look, Kyle, it probably wouldn't work between us anyway." I forced a smile, ignoring my sudden nausea, and prayed that he wouldn't catch on to the fact that what I'd just said was a huge lie. "You should tell whoever it is how you feel."

He raised his head. He looked so hopeful. My heart hurt, seeing just how much he wanted somebody who wasn't me, but what was that old saying? _If you love someone, let them go. If they come back, they were meant to be yours, and if they don't..._ I didn't remember how it ended. I'd never wanted to think about the person I loved _not_ coming back to me. I focused on the first part, about letting them go. If I was meant to be with Kyle, then this other person—whoeverhe was; I didn't want to know.— _wasn't_. It was selfish and awful—considering how obvious it was that Kyle would give anything to be with him—but I couldn't help hoping that things between them wouldn't work out. I wanted Kyle to come back to be with _me_.

"You mean that?" he asked.

I nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah, dude, of course."

He held my gaze for a few seconds. I did my best to keep what I was really feeling hidden; I knew that if he knew how much I wasn't okay with this, he would feel horrible. I cared about Kyle too much to ever make him feel that way—especially for my own selfish reasons. Finally, he smiled.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"Come on," I said, standing up and hoping to God my legs would support me. "Everyone's gonna be wondering where we disappeared to."

He stood up slowly, and together we headed back downstairs. I desperately needed something to drink, so I left Kyle at the bottom of the stairs and went into the Broflovski's kitchen. Craig was sitting at the table, watching the burbling coffeepot.

"Hey," I said as I crossed the room to the cupboard and grabbed a glass.

"Hey," he replied.

"Tweek ran out of coffee, huh?" I nodded to the coffeepot as I opened the fridge and scanned the contents, deciding on a Sprite. I closed the fridge and brought the can and glass to the table. I sat down beside Craig and popped open the can.

"Nah, but he will soon. Might as well have some ready." Craig shrugged.

I nodded, pouring the Sprite into the glass. I tried to think of something to say, to get a conversation going, but all that was going through my head was the conversation I'd just had with Kyle. I wondered who he was, this guy that Kyle had a thing for. Was he here in the house right now? Kyle _had_ said that he was going to tell him today...

"...Christophe?"

"Huh?" I refocused on Craig, who'd apparently asked me a question.

He rolled his eyes and flipped me off, but repeated, "Have you talked to Christophe?"

"No?" I said, my confusion turning my reply into a question. "Was I supposed to have?" I drained half my glass of Sprite in one gulp, took a breath, and then finished it off.

Craig shrugged again, eyes still on the coffeepot. "He was being all cryptic and French at me when we went out for a smoke. Just wondered if he'd done it to you, too."

"Oh," I said, as the coffeepot beeped, signalling that the coffee was ready. "Well, no. I haven't talked to him at all today, actually."

Craig didn't answer me, just got up from the chair he'd been in and filled a mug with coffee. He'd been out of the kitchen for less than ten seconds when Mrs. Broflovski came in.

"Oh, hello," she said to me with a smile. "I was just about to get Kyle's cake. Could you take some plates and forks into the living room for me?"

"Sure, Mrs. Broflovski," I said, standing. I put my empty glass by the sink and went to the plate cupboard. I grabbed some plates and opened the silverware drawer and took out a handful of forks, then headed into the living room.

Clyde and Kenny seemed to be in the middle of an intense discussion. Knowing those two, it was about the newest issue of Playboy, or something like that. Token was sitting with Butters and Cartman on the couch, where he was fighting Cartman for the remote control. He was winning, surprisingly. Craig and Tweek were sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, talking quietly to each other. They did a lot of that these days. I could tell that at times like these, the only person each one saw or heard was the other. I smiled at them—not that they noticed—but then I saw Kyle. He was sitting alone, leaning against the wall by the front door, among the shoes piled there, and he looked miserable. It was then that I realized I hadn't seen Christophe. I looked around the room again and then back at Kyle and the shoes. Christophe's boots weren't there.

I knew right then that even if there was a Marsh family curse, it hadn't hit me just yet. I could put two and two together. Christophe was nowhere to be found, and Kyle was miserable. I set the plates and forks down on the nearest coffee table and went to where Kyle was sitting. I kneeled beside him and put my hand on his shoulder. "Kyle?"

"Hey, dude," he said. He was smiling at me but his smile didn't reach his eyes .

"Hey," I said. "Everything all right?"

"What? Oh, yeah. I was just thinking," he said.

"Where'd Christophe go?" I asked, casually—I hoped—glancing down at the pile of shoes.

He shrugged. "He wasn't here when we came downstairs."

"Oh." I hated myself just then. I was disappointed that Christophe's absence had nothing to do with Kyle telling him he had feelings for him. I was _disappointed_ that Christophe hadn't rejected my best friend and made him miserable, just so I could have a shot with him. What the fuck kind of best friend was I turning into?

Mrs. Broflovski interrupted just then, bringing the cake into the living room and loudly announcing that it was time for Kyle to blow out the candles. I sighed as we all formed a circle around Kyle and the cake and starting singing "Happy Birthday". My heart wasn't in it, so I just let the others' voices carry the song. Kenny and Craig, on either side of me, kept looking at me funny, but I didn't care. I just wanted to go home. I didn't feel much like partying anymore. After the cake had been sliced and served, Clyde put a movie on. Dodgeball was one of my favourite movies, but I couldn't concentrate on it, and the cake—chocolate fudge ice cream cake, something I normally couldn't get enough of—was making me sick.

Kyle liked Christophe. _Christophe_ , the snide, snarky French mercenary who smoked more often than he spoke. How could Kyle like _him_? What did Christophe have that I didn't? A rusty shovel? Tar-filled lungs? An accent? Maybe if I started smoking twelve packs a day, started digging holes everywhere and bringing my shovel with me like a security blanket, and started talking like I had no idea how to pronounce words, maybe then I'd be good enough. I knew I was being stupid, and irrational, but I couldn't help it. This sucked. This sucked more than anything had ever sucked in my life. The goddamn _Frenchy_ was better than me. I cringed. My inner voice had sounded a _lot_ like Cartman, just then. My stomach twisted and I wished I hadn't eaten those seven slices of pizza and three bites of cake.

"Hey, you okay?" Kenny asked, from my right. "Dude, you're like, white."

"Oh, Jesus!" Tweek yelped from beside Craig, who was on my left. "He's sick, maybe there was something in the pizza!" His eyes grew wider. "Oh, God, what if _I_ get sick?!"

Craig leaned over and spoke quietly into Tweek's ear. Tweek whimpered once, and then appeared to calm down, though he still clutched Craig's arm tightly. His knuckles were white, but if Craig was feeling any pain, he didn't show it.

"Maybe you should lie on the couch or something," Clyde said from beside Kenny, looking concerned.

I shook my head. "I think I need to go home," I croaked, trying to get the words out quickly so I could clamp my mouth shut again. Kyle looked up from his place in our circle on the floor, directly across from me. He blinked, and I could still see misery in his green eyes. I tried to send him a look that said, _"I'm sorry."_ I think he understood, because he nodded at me. I stood up, feeling sicker with each passing second and managed to say, "See you guys later." I slipped on my shoes, not bothering to tie them up, and pulled open Kyle's front door.

There was a breeze, and the cool air made me feel a little better. Enough so that I could open my mouth and not worry about turning myself inside out, anyway. I wondered if Cartman had taken it upon himself to finish the rest of my cake.

... ... ...

"Stan? You're home early."

My mom was sitting in our living room when I got in, my dad asleep beside her on the couch. I sighed softly. I'd been hoping that they wouldn't be there when I got home so I wouldn't have to explain why I'd only been gone for three and a half hours.

"Yeah. I have kind of a headache," I lied, moving towards the stairs. "I'm just going to go try to sleep it off."

"All right. I hope you feel better for Monday," my mom said, looking concerned.

"I'm sure I will be," I said as I went upstairs. Inside my room, I fell forward onto my bed. Facedown, I groaned into my blankets, then lifted myself up and crossed my room to my closet. I pulled open the doors and grabbed my giant suitcase, dragging it out and throwing it on top of my bed. Since I was home anyway, I might as well pack for New York.


	5. Innocent: Butters

It made me sad when Stan left Kyle's house right when we were eating cake. Just like when I'd seen Christophe leave not long before Stan and Kyle had come downstairs. Neither one of them had looked very happy as they left, and I wondered if maybe they'd had a fight or something upstairs. Stan _had_ looked pretty darn sick, though, so I guess I couldnt really blame him for going home. But we'd all been having so much fun, and the birthday cake was supposed to be the best part of the party, especially when it was chocolate like this one was. Missing the cake would make _me_ sad. I licked some off the icing off my fingers and smiled. It was so good. I looked over at Stan's barely-touched piece of cake on his plate that was sitting on the floor. Poor Stan. I thought about picking it up and putting it on a table so it didn't spill onto the carpet—Kyle's house had real pretty carpeting, and I didn't want it to be all wrecked by chocolate cake. And, well, Kyle's mom scared me a little; I didn't want her to tell my parents that I'd been making messes in her house. They'd ground me for sure, and I was really looking forward to New York. I hoped Stan would be all right by Monday. He'd been the one to come up with the whole idea, and it would just be a real shame if he had to miss it.

Beside me, Eric leaned over and grabbed the plate with Stan's unfinished cake on it. It tipped over a little, and I gasped. "Be – be careful, Eric!" I stuttered, a forkful of cake halfway to my mouth.

He straightened up, and put the plate down in front of him. He'd already finished his first piece of cake, and now he was starting to eat Stan's. He swallowed a bite and smiled at me, the kind of smile he has right when he's about to tease me about something. He teases me a lot, but I don't mind. Sometimes it hurts my feelings, but I know he doesn't mean it that way. He's just being Cartman. Nobody understands why I'm with him. Wendy Testaburger asked me one time how I could stand being around him so much, but the thing that nobody else gets is that he's not Cartman all the time. He's not Cartman when he's alone with me; that's when he's Eric. They're different, kind of, Eric and Cartman. Cartman, well, Cartman does bad things, without seeming to really care about what happens. He's done bad things to me a few times, but that's just the way he is. Eric, now, Eric's nicer, he'll watch my Hello Kitty shows with me and hold my hand and make me feel special. I think Cartman is just someone Eric pretends to be because he's scared of what people would do if they saw who he really is. Like when I used to dress up as Professor Chaos when we were in fourth grade. It's nice to be somebody else for a little while. It's just pretend.

"Don't worry, Butters. Kyle's mom could stand to clean her carpets anyway, if she wasn't so cheap. Oh, wait, she's a _Jew_." He said that last part while looking at Kyle.

I bit my lip and looked at Kyle nervously, worried that there was going to be a big fight. I didn't like when they fought; they yelled and hit each other, and reminded me of my dad. I didn't really like things that reminded me of my dad. I wanted to tell Kyle with my eyes somehow that I was sorry, but he was staring at the floor, and it seemed like he hadn't even heard Eric. I put my fork back down on my plate and leaned over to the redhead. I tapped his shoulder and he jumped, almost spilling his own cake on the floor. He looked at me, and, well, he just looked so _sad_.

"Asshole! I was talking to you!" Eric said to Kyle. I was right in front of him, and his mouth was pretty darn close to my ear, so he was really loud just then. Kyle shrugged at us both, and went back to pushing his cake around the plate with his fork. Eric seemed to lose interest in trying to start an argument with him, and started eating again.

I leaned back, still watching Kyle. I was worried about him. Poor guy looked like he felt miserable. I wondered why. Maybe Stan and Christophe _had_ been fighting with each other, and Kyle'd been caught in the middle. I knew how it felt to be in the middle like that—Eric argued with a lot of people, and most of them would come and talk to me about it when he wasn't around. I didn't mind that they talked to me about their fights; I mean, everyone needs somebody to talk to, and I liked being able to help out if I could. It just bothered me when they came to me just to complain about Eric. Sometimes they talked to me like they knew him better than I did, and when I tried to tell them that he wasn't really who they thought he was, well, they'd just roll their eyes at me. That hurt my feelings, too, when they did that. But whenever they made me feel sad, I'd just go over to Eric's house. I wouldn't tell him the real reason why I was sad, because I knew he would go pick a fight with whoever had made me feel that way, and I didn't want to be the reason people argued. Mostly I'd tell him that it was my parents making me unhappy. It was the only thing I lied to him about, and I never really felt very good about it—lying was pretty bad, if you asked me—but it was safer that way. He could always make me feel better about things, anyway, so that kind of made the lying worth it, in a way.

When we'd all finished eating, I volunteered to help take all the plates and forks into the kitchen with Kyle. It was the least I could do, really. Well, that and I wanted to talk to him, to see if he was okay. As we went into Kyle's kitchen, I heard Eric challenge Craig to a Guitar Hero rock-off. I smiled to myself. I loved Eric, really I did, but every time we all got together, he tried to beat Craig at the game, and every time he lost. I knew I shouldn't think it was so funny—Eric hated losing—but, well, this was going to be the eighth time or something. I wondered when he would just give up, or challenge Craig to a game he _was_ good at, like Halo.

I followed Kyle over to the sink and set down the stack of plates I'd been carrying. Kyle had already put his dishes down, and he was staring out the window, but I didn't think it really looked like he was really _seeing_ what he was looking at. It was more like, he was seeing something inside his head, and he just happened to be facing the window. I sure hated seeing him look so sad. Kyle had always been one of the nicer guys to me.

"Kyle?" I said. He didn't seem to hear me, so I reached out to touch his shoulder. He shook his head, blinked a few times, and then looked at me.

"Huh?" he said.

"You – you okay?" I asked, tugging on the sleeve of the blue T-shirt I was wearing. Kyle looked out the window again—really, this time, I thought—and sighed.

"I don't know..." he said, softly. And slowly, like he was trying to think. I waited patiently, in case there was something else he wanted to say. He turned to look at me. "Butters, what would you do if somebody came up to you and told you they loved you, right now?"

I was kind of surprised by the question, but I could tell that Kyle wanted a serious answer, so I tried to think. "Jeez," I said. "I – I'd have to tell them, that – that I was sorry, but that I'm with Eric."

"But what if you thought that maybe there was a chance you could love them too, if you started a relationship with them?" He looked down at the floor when he said that, but I could see that he was blushing a little.

"Well, I'd sure feel bad about having to hurt them," I said, already feeling guilty. I didn't like hurting people, even imaginary people. If I could hurt imaginary people, I could hurt real-life people too. I didn't like thinking that way; it made me feel bad. "But, Eric would be worth it, in – in the end, I think."

Kyle was quiet for a long time. I didn't like silence like that very much. It made me wonder if I'd said something wrong, but when he looked up at me again, there was a tiny smile on his face. I smiled back, proudly, feeling like maybe I'd actually helped him.

"Thanks, Butters," he said.

"Aw, you're welcome, Kyle," I said, with a little shrug.

"Come on," he said. He pointed towards the living room. I could hear Eric grumbling something, and a whole lot of clanging noises. "Let's go see how the battle's going." I laughed, and followed him into the living room. Whatever Kyle had on his mind, I hoped it worked out for him.

Eric and Craig were standing in front of the TV. They were playing that really hard song on Guitar Hero, that DragonForce one. They were playing it on hard, too. Eric seemed to be having trouble hitting all the notes—that's where all the clanging was coming from—but Craig was barely missing anything. I was kind of jealous. I'd tried playing that song one time, just on easy, and I'd gotten booed off the stage. I didn't really like that that happened. I thought there should be a nicer way of losing, instead of people yelling all angrily like that.

Token and Clyde were sitting on the couch, but there was an empty spot beside them, so I went to go sit there. Tweek was on the floor in front of the couch, and I smiled at him as I went by, but I don't know if he saw me—he was drinking his coffee, and I'd noticed that a lot of the time, only Craig could distract him from coffee. Kyle sat on the recliner. Kenny'd been sitting on the floor, but when Kyle sat down he hopped up to perch on the arm of the chair. I smiled at that; he looked funny, trying to balance like that. After a few seconds he tumbled backwards, onto Kyle's lap. I saw Kyle roll his eyes, and heard Kenny giggle, and then they were both scrunched onto the seat. It didn't look very comfortable, but they looked happy, and happy is all that matters. I wondered if maybe Kyle had a crush on Kenny. Or maybe it was the other way around.

"God _dammit_!" Eric yelled. I looked at the TV screen. Craig had just won, like usual. Eric was glaring at him. Craig just stuck his middle finger in the air. I gulped nervously, and looked at Eric. He looked like he wanted to punch Craig, he really did, but then he looked right at me. I must have looked real scared or something, because he seemed to calm down, just a little. That was another thing nobody but me seemed to notice about him—sometimes, if what he was doing really seemed to be bothering me, he'd stop. He'd never admit it out loud when we were with anybody else though, and maybe that's why no one ever believed me when I told them. But it was true, it happened. Like right now. He held out his Guitar Hero controller and pointed it at Craig.

"Rematch," he demanded.

Craig looked over at Tweek, like he just wanted to go sit with him again, but he sighed and rolled his eyes at Eric. "Fine," he said, pushing buttons on the controller he was holding. "Same song?" He sounded bored.

"Damn right, same song!" Eric's voice came out sounding like a growl. "I'm gonna kick your ass, Craig!"

"Whatever," Craig muttered as the song started. I winced as I heard more clanging. I didn't think this was going to end very well. Craig was hitting almost every note perfectly again, but the song kept getting drowned out by the clangs coming from Eric's controller. About a minute or so into the song, he hit the pause button and insisted that they start over. Now Craig was looking like he wanted to punch Eric, but he just flipped him off again and restarted the song.

"Jesus, Butters," Clyde said quietly from beside me. I turned my head to look at him. He had his eyes on the screen, following Eric and Craig's battle. "How do you stand him?"

"Eric?" I said, even though I knew that's what Clyde meant.

"Yeah. He's so..." Clyde made a face and shrugged.

"Well – well, I love him," I said, the way I always did whenever one of the other guys would ask that question.

"But why? No offense, Butters," Clyde said, and I felt my whole body kind of tense. No offense was what a lot of people said to me right before they said something they knew I wouldn't like very much. "But he's an asshole. You don't really seem—"

I interrupted him, even though that was pretty rude. He was just making me so mad. "He isn't to me, and anyways, I've been with him for almost a – a year and a half now." I tried to keep my voice down so Eric wouldn't hear me; as angry as Clyde was making me, I didn't want Eric fighting with him. I didn't really hold grudges the way he did. I already felt bad for snapping at Clyde like that. He was my friend, and I knew he was probably just trying to look out for me the way friends do, and that was nice of him and all, but I was getting pretty tired of explaining my relationship with Eric to everyone all the time. "I – I'm sorry," I stuttered, giving Clyde a half-smile. "I just, you know, I love him and if – if you guys are really my friends, then, well, that should be good enough."

Clyde nodded at me, and he looked like he felt bad too. I didn't like that I'd made him feel bad, but I was also kind of glad, in a way. I always felt proud when I stood up for myself. I hadn't been very good at it before I'd starting hanging around Eric more. That was something he'd helped me with. I was better at not letting people push me around the way they'd used to. I wasn't as _loud_ as he was, but I'd started feeling a little more confident sometimes, about telling people what I thought. I could defend the things that were important to me now, and my relationship with Eric was, well, pretty darn important to me, so it felt good that I could stick up for it like that.

I got a little dizzy, watching Eric and Craig play. The notes flew by so fast I wondered how they could even see what buttons they were supposed to be pushing. I wasn't even playing the game, but somehow I'd gotten so into it that whenever I heard a clang, I jumped and bit my lip. My heart starting thunking a lot faster as I watched, and I started feeling anxious. It bothered me a little that a game I wasn't even playing could make me feel so stressed, but I had a hard time looking away until I heard Tweek squeak out an, "Oh, _Je_ sus!" I looked down at him, sitting on the floor. He was staring at the screen like I had been, holding his mug of coffee pretty tightly—his knuckles were turning white—and he was shaking. It was normal for him to shake, but he looked so, so _panicked_ , right then. Like he was going to faint, or something. I saw Craig glance over his shoulder at him, and then, like he completely forgot about the game, he slipped the strap attached to his controller over his head and dropped the plastic guitar on the floor. He kneeled beside Tweek and wrapped his arms around him, talking quietly to him.

"Shh, Tweeker, it's okay," I heard him say as Tweek made a noise that kind of reminded me of a really sad little puppy. "It's just a game, there's no pressure, I promise."

Poor Tweek. The game had gotten to him just like it had to me. My eyes found their way back to the TV screen. Eric had barely even looked up when Tweek yelped; he'd just kept playing. The song was almost over now, and he was winning, since Craig had stopped playing to take care of Tweek. I wanted to say something about how that didn't seem fair, but, well, if Eric was happy, that made me happy, really. And if he was happy, nobody would fight, and that seemed like a pretty darn good thing to me. When the song ended, he held up his controller and turned around to look at all of us.

"Take _that_ ," he said, to Craig. Craig ignored him though; he was still busy talking to Tweek.

"Doesn't count," said Kenny. I looked at him. He was grinning at Eric like he wanted to laugh at him.

"Does too!" Eric said, glaring at Kenny, who didn't look a bit afraid. "It's not _my_ fault Craig abandoned the game to go make love to his boyfriend!"

I was pretty sure Craig heard that, since he held up one of his hands, with his middle finger sticking up. He didn't look away from Tweek, though. They were such a cute couple. I'd kind of always thought they'd end up together, honestly, ever since, well, junior high. I could understand the people who were surprised when they got together, though. I mean, well, Craig had always been the class bully—even Eric, even though he always tried to pick fights with him, was afraid of Craig when he got _really_ mad—and Tweek... Well, mostly everyone had seemed kind of, afraid of him, because he twitched and yelled and stuff like that. But Craig, he'd never, _ever_ been one of the ones to be mean to Tweek, not counting the time he and Tweek had fought each other in elementary school—which, to be fair, hadn't happened because they didn't like each other; it'd been because of the rest of us. I still felt pretty bad about it, but maybe that was what had brought them together. They'd always been best friends after that, and they'd been going out almost as long as me and Eric. They, well, they just _fit_ together; nothing bad had ever happened between them. Well, except for when Thomas came. I wasn't sure exactly what had gone on with the three of them, but for a little while Craig spent all his time with Thomas, and Tweek, whenever I saw him, looked different. Kind of like he was broken, on the inside. I hadn't liked seeing him like that. It made me really, really sad. I was glad when he and Craig got back together.

"Don't flip me off, asshole!" Eric was yelling. I looked up at him. I wanted to try to ask him with my eyes to please stop yelling so much—I really didn't like yelling—but then I saw Kyle. He was looking at Tweek and Craig, and he had that really sad look in his eyes again. I wasn't the only one that noticed this time, because I saw Kenny look at him too.

"Dude, Kyle, you okay?" he asked.

Kyle sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, I just have a headache." He smiled, kind of. It looked forced, like he didn't want to be smiling, but felt like he should. I understood; sometimes I did that too.

"You want us to go?" Token asked, leaning forwards.

Kyle shook his head, and then winced, like it hurt. "No," he said. "No, it's okay."

"It's okay if you need us to," said Token. "I have to pack, anyway."

"Me too," Clyde said. I nodded in agreement.

Kyle looked around at all of us, and I could tell he felt bad, but if he was sick, the important thing was getting better so he didn't have to miss the trip. It would be sad if Stan had to stay home because he was sick, but it was Kyle's birthday present after all; it would be worse if _he_ was too sick to go. After a minute or so, he nodded slowly. "Well..." he said. "If you're sure. I mean, _really_ sure."

"It's cool," Token said, standing. Clyde stood up too.

"You don't mind if I stay a little while?" Kenny asked Kyle. I saw Kyle hesitate for a second, like he was worried about something, but then he shook his head.

"No," he said. "Of course not, dude."

Eric rolled his eyes, but he didn't say anything, and I was pretty sure that meant that he didn't have a problem with leaving this early. He saw me looking at him and raised one of his eyebrows. I blushed, and he smiled at me. I was glad I was staying at his house tonight.

"See you guys," Kyle said, as we all put on our shoes at his front door. He was smiling, but it didn't go all the way to his eyes. I really hoped he felt better soon. "Thank you so much for the presents. I'm sorry this was such a lame party."

"Aw, it's okay," I said, smiling at him. "I had fun."

"Yeah, at least it was better than last year," Clyde said, with a glance at Eric, who just glared at him. Clyde shrugged, and he and Token left. Craig and Tweek followed them down Kyle's front steps. Eric nodded at Kyle before leaving the house, and I smiled at the redhead and Kenny and gave them a little wave before following. We had to walk back to his house, but I didn't mind. I liked walking with Eric; sometimes he'd hold my hand as we went. His mom wasn't going to be home tonight, and that made me happy too. Nights alone with Eric at his house were some of my favourite things in the world.


	6. Thank You: Kenny

I waited until I saw Butters and Cartman turn the corner before I let Kyle's front door swing shut. Turning to the redhead, I said, "Okay, spill it, Broflovski."

He backed up a few steps, blinked at me, and said, "Spill what?" in a pretty convincing casual tone that probably would have fooled most people. Maybe even Stan, some days anyway—most of the time, I was pretty sure those two shared a brain or something. He couldn't fool me, though.

I knew that a lot of people never saw me as anything other than "that kid who dies and comes back", like I was some sort of _legend_ or something—no, really, I'd heard some of the tenth-graders talking (whispering, I guess) about it in one of the bathrooms a few months ago. They'd sounded so freaked out by the whole idea of me—one of them had asked the others if I was evil, like a demon or something—and I'd thought it might be kind of funny if I popped out of the stall I was in and slit my throat in front of them, then showed up at school the next day perfectly fine, just to _really_ fuck with them. But I'd been a little busy at the time ( _somebody_ had had to relieve Kevin of that pesky virginity, and well, not to brag or anything, but he might as well start with the best, right?) so I hadn't.

Anyway, my point is, even though I had that reputation, I was more than just some lucky eighteen-year-old who'd found the secret to resurrection. I was more than just the kid who'd been to both sides of the afterlife and lived to tell about it. That was pretty fucking sweet, and all that (most of the time, anyway), but I had other talents too—one of those happened to be my ability to read people. Maybe it was a side effect of dying all the time or something. I could look at someone and in less than ten seconds know exactly what they were feeling, even if they tried to hide it. I just knew what to look for. Like with Kyle, right now. He was dead-set on denying that anything was wrong, but I'd seen his eyes widen just a little bit, like he was afraid I'd found out some secret of his; of course, that only proved that he _did_ have a secret. He was tugging on his hair, too, and that had always been a dead giveaway that something was up with him. Put that together with how Stan had been acting, and, well, it was pretty obvious—I would have figured it out even if Christophe hadn't said anything on his way out. (What was that, anyway? Christophe had never run away from anything in all the years I'd known him. He must have a bigger thing for Kyle than I'd thought.)

"Come on," I said, walking back into his living room and falling back onto the couch. He followed me, but since I was taking up the whole couch, he leaned on the recliner. "There's obviously something up. When have you ever been able to keep anything from me?" I grinned at him. He smiled weakly back at me and shrugged.

"I just have some things on my mind," he said.

I laughed, stretching my arms over my head and almost tumbling off the couch in the process. "Well, I know _that_. I'm asking what those things are."

Kyle looked down and started twisting the ring he was still wearing around his finger. I wondered if he'd seen it in the window of the jewellery store too—it had been on display for at least a month, right in the middle. How Christophe had thought he'd able to pass it off as some random ancestor's ring was beyond me. It was the only thing in the window with no price tag underneath it, which I knew meant it cost more than any normal teenager should be able to afford. Christophe wasn't normal, though—I didn't know any other eighteen-year-olds who disappeared for days at a time and came back with six new scars, a bloody shovel, and piles of cash...

Huh. Maybe I should talk to him about getting in on that. I'd be a fucking sweet mercenary—it's not like I'm a normal eighteen-year-old either. Not even close. I could go on suicide missions, get fucking _decapitated_ and show up in time to get paid. Christ, I could be an immortal millionaire.

Kyle coughed, one of those _I'm-totally-stalling-for-time_ coughs. He was blushing now, and I knew I was close to getting him to tell me what was going on. He took the ring off and started just staring at it. I flipped over so I was hanging upside-down, my head resting on the floor. I tried to blow my blond hair out of my eyes—fuck, I needed a haircut—but when that didn't work, I shoved it out of the way with my hand. I blinked up at Kyle, waiting for him to say something, but I got impatient after like, five seconds.

"Dude?" I said, and he jumped, dropping the ring. It rolled across the carpet a little, landing right near my head. I picked it up and slid it on one of my fingers, holding my hand up in the air. Jesus cartwheeling _Christ,_ it was shiny.

"Promise you won't tell?" Kyle said quietly.

"Cross my heart and hope to die," I said with a grin, returning to a normal sitting position, on the floor this time.

Kyle snorted. He held out his hand and I tossed the ring back to him. "That doesn't mean very much, coming from you." He sat down too, on the floor right across from me. "It's about...Stan."

"Wait, don't tell me," I said, closing my eyes like I was concentrating really hard. "Stan finally confessed his feelings for you, but you want Christophe so you had to reject him. And now you're feeling guilty." I opened my eyes to see Kyle staring at me with his mouth slightly open. If I'd thought he was blushing before, that was nothing compared to how red his face was now.

"Wh – how did you – Christophe – huh?" was what he managed to stutter. I couldn't help laughing, even though Kyle was obviously pretty upset. He just looked so _shocked._

"Dude, come on," I said. "We've been friends for what, like, _ever_? You're not that hard to figure out." I shrugged. "And Stan's never been able to keep his emotions off his face."

"How did _you_ notice and I didn't?" Kyle sighed. I knew he was probably frustrated with himself for not being able to pick up on Stan's feelings sooner.

"You were distracted?" I offered innocently. "I don't blame you. 'Tophe's almost as hot as me."

He smiled for a second, but went right back to looking worried. Honestly, some days I wish I could get Kyle a new brain. One that didn't _think_ so much.

"Is it really that obvious?" His voice was soft. "Like, do you think... Do you think _he_ knows?"

"Christophe?" Well, actually, Christophe thought that Kyle and Stan were Super Best _Lovers_ now, but I couldn't tell Kyle that. He'd want to know why Christophe was skulking around outside his bedroom door. I'd pretty much dragged a confession out of him about his crush on Kyle; the least I could do was keep his secret. I _did_ have morals sometimes. About secrets, anyway. I liked _knowing_ everyone's secrets, but I'd never _tell_ anyone. I mean, I wouldn't want somebody I trusted to go around mouthing off about anything _I_ had told them. If dying all the time has taught me anything, it's that karma really is a bitch, and the things people do in their lifetimes really do matter in the end. There's always a few seconds, right after I die, where I'm floating around in a whole bunch of nothing before I go to whichever afterlife I'm supposed to go to that time, and I try to guess which one it's going to be. It's hard sometimes, though; I have to remember all the things I've done between then, and the time I died before. If I've been mostly good, then I'll go up to hang out with God and the angels and the Mormons, but if I've been an asshole—which kind of happens a lot—then it's tea parties with Satan for me. I don't mind Hell so much. Damien's down there, so I always have at least a sort-of friend. God's nice and everything, but Heaven's just kind of, well, _boring_.

"Yeah," Kyle said. He'd been staring at the ring again, but he looked up at me now. "He wasn't here when Stan and I came back downstairs. Do you think...?"

"Oh," I said, trying to think of a lie. I hated lying to Kyle, even though I was good at it; he always believed whatever I told him. If I ever was going to tell anyone one of my secrets, it would be Kyle. He was the closest thing I had to a best friend these days, ever since Cartman had started going out with Butters—I would seriously never, ever understand _that_ relationship, and I'd done some pretty questionable things in my lifetimes. "No. I think he said he had to go to work."

"Oh." Kyle blinked, and seemed to relax just a little bit.

"You should tell him." Wow, déjà vu. Hadn't I said the exact same thing to Christophe earlier?

"I don't know..." Kyle said slowly. "You saw Stan..."

There was something in his voice that made me look at him more closely. "Kyle, do you _like_ Stan?"

He shook his head a few times, his red hair swinging back and forth. "No. I mean, maybe. I don't – I don't know." He sighed.

I scooted closer to him. This was interesting. "Well, you guys _have_ been best friends for like, your entire lives. Sometimes that's how it works. Look at Craig and Tweek."

"Yeah, but that's the thing." Kyle tilted his head back and looked up at the ceiling. "Sometimes I think maybe I feel something for him, but then I wonder if that's just because Stan and I dating is just, you know. What everybody expects to happen eventually, because we've been best friends for so long. And I don't want to start something with him if I'm not sure I'm doing it for the right reasons, because then I'll just hurt him, and I don't want to do that."

I wanted to smile. Typical Kyle. He always had to make some logical point instead of just going with his feelings. "Did you tell him that?"

"No."

"What did you say to him?"

Kyle started playing with his hair again. "I told him...there was someone else, but I didn't tell him who." He leaned forward and put his head in his hands. "Goddammit, I'm a douche."

I shook my head, even though he couldn't see me. "You're not a douche, Kyle."

"Yeah, I am." His voice was muffled. "I hurt my best friend."

"Stan'll be fine," I said, trying to sound confident even though I wasn't completely sure I was telling the truth. Stan was a good friend of mine and all that, but he had a tendency to overreact to things, emotionally anyway. I just really hoped he didn't start hanging around those Goth kids again.

They were just as annoying now as they had been years ago, still spouting off the same old shit about the conformists and how life was so awful and how their parents didn't care about them and whatever the fuck else they whined about. I had no patience for them. I'd seen the one chick, Henrietta or whatever, get dropped off at school one time when I was hanging out in front of the school, back when I still smoked. She'd completely ignored her mom call goodbye to her, and I'd heard her bitch to one of the others that over the weekend her parents had gotten her a new TV, but not cable, because they wanted her to just watch the "local conformist channels" and how her life was _so_ fucking _awful_. It had pissed me off so much I wanted to slap her. I'd like to see her spend a week living in _my_ house. We didn't even _own_ a working TV. And I was willing to bet she didn't have to share her house with three different rat families, so she wasn't worried about dying from rabies or some other rat disease in the middle of the night. Not that it made much of a difference for me, really, since I'd just come right back to the land of the living the next day anyway, but for a normal person I would think that would be a pretty big deal. And the Goth kids, whatever pretentious wannabe nonconformist bullshit they wanted to spew out to try to prove otherwise, were normal people. Annoying as fuck, but normal.

I really, _really_ didn't think I could handle Stan turning into one of them again.

"I hope so..." Kyle said slowly, lifting his head. He looked tired. I hopped up from where I'd been sitting.

"He's your best friend, dude," I said. "You've been through too much for things to fuck up because of this one thing." I pointed to his front door. "I'm gonna head back home, though, and clean out my rat's nest of a suitcase." I laughed, even though it wasn't that funny, just to try to get Kyle to smile. "Literally."

I almost got what I wanted—Kyle half-smiled at me. He stood up too and walked with me to the door.

"Hey, promise me something?" I said, looking over my shoulder as I stood on his doorstep.

"Hmm?" he said, sounding distracted. Probably thinking again. I really had to get him to stop doing that.

"Promise me you'll tell 'Tophe." I held his gaze for a few seconds, just to make sure he knew I was being serious. I wanted Kyle to be happy.

He looked down and kicked at the edge of the door. When he looked back up at me he shrugged, kind of, and said, "I promise...to think about it?"

Well, it had been worth a shot. I didn't think I was going to get a better answer than that, so I nodded. "I'll see you Monday, dude. Save me a window seat." He was keeping all the plane tickets for us, since he was the one least likely to lose them. If they came home with me, chances were my parents would use them to light a fire on the stove, or something.

"'Kay." Kyle waved at me, a tired wave, and closed the door. I sighed, and jumped off the top step, landing on the Broflovski's lawn. I turned left, the opposite direction from where my house was. I wasn't going home yet. I wanted to go talk to Christophe and see why he was such a pussy all of a sudden.

... ... ...

I thought it was funny that even though Christophe made a ton of cash doing what he did, he'd chosen to live in the most rundown apartment in South Park he could find. It almost made my house look like the fucking Airport Hilton. Almost. Christophe's building wasn't rat-infested, as far as I knew, but there was the occasional cockroach. I'd died here once too, a few months ago at Christophe's birthday. Somehow, I'd gotten caught in the middle of a knife battle in the hallway. Literally in the middle—both guys had ended up stabbing their knives into either side of me. _That_ had hurt. When I'd come back, I'd been sore for days.

I hopped over a sleeping hobo who was sprawled across the sidewalk in front of Christophe's building, a tipped-over bottle of vodka beside him, and made my way to the door. I found Christophe's name on the side where the buzzers were, and pushed the button. Then, just to be a douchebag, I pushed it two more times.

"Yes?" Christophe's voice crackled through the speakers. He sounded irritated, but really, when didn't he?

"It's me," I said. "Let me in, I wanna talk to you."

Silence. I stood there for a minute. I almost thought I was going to have to keep buzzing at him until he let me in just to shut me up, but then I heard the click of the door unlocking. Grinning, I pulled it open and headed for Christophe's apartment, down the stairs at the end of the hall. He was standing out in the hallway, facing the window that was there. I could see cigarette smoke floating around him. Surprise, surprise. I thought about warning him about the anti-smoking lectures that would await him in Hell, but knowing Christophe, he wouldn't care as long as he didn't go to heaven and have to deal with God. I'd tried to tell him once how God wasn't really that bad of a guy, he just took some getting used to, but Christophe was pretty set in his belief that He was just there to fuck with him.

"Hey, 'Tophe," I said. He turned slowly and glared at me.

"I 'ave asked you before to not call me zat," he said.

I nodded. "Yeah, but that doesn't mean I'm going to stop."

He rolled his eyes at me and blew a few smoke rings into the air before asking, "What is it zat you want to talk to me about?"

"Kyle," I said. I'd been debating on the way over how I was going to start the conversation. I was pretty sure that Christophe wasn't going to be too eager to talk about Kyle right now, but I had to try. I could do it without betraying Kyle's trust. After all, I didn't have to tell him that his crush on Kyle was totally, one hundred percent reciprocated.

Even though it was.

Sure enough, his expression darkened, and he moved towards his apartment door. I was faster, though, and I was in front of it with my arms crossed before he'd gotten halfway there. I laughed to myself. Maybe I really _should_ look into this mercenary spy stuff. Agent Double-oh Kenny. I liked the sound of it.

He growled at me. "Get out of my way, McCormick."

"Nuh-uh," I said, still smiling. "What are you gonna do, kill me?" I raised an eyebrow at him. He just glared back at me and took another drag on his cigarette. Score one for me. "You might actually be interested in what I have to say, 'Tophe."

"Zen speak," he said, waving his hand holding the cigarette in the air. I saw the fingers of his free hand twitch, and I knew he was wishing he had his shovel with him.

"Well," I said, drawing the word out obnoxiously. "He's not dating Stan."

"'e's not?" I had to hand it to him; Christophe was pretty good at controlling his emotions. Nothing in his voice gave anything away, and his expression didn't change, but I noticed how he almost dropped his cigarette.

"Nope," I said casually.

"But I 'eard 'im. Stan," said Christophe, narrowing his eyes at me like he thought I was just fucking with him. "'e was telling Kyle 'ow much 'e loved 'im." He crushed his cigarette against the wall and tossed it on the carpet, adding, "And zey 'ave been close zere entire lives."

I rolled my eyes. "'Kay, 'Tophe, you don't have to believe me. I just thought I'd come tell you. You know, in case you wanted another chance not to wuss out." With a shrug, I started walking away.

"McCormick."

I was almost at the stairs when I heard Christophe from the other end of the hallway. I turned around. He was leaning against his door, watching me. Just watching, not glaring.

"Yeah?" I mimicked him, leaning against the wall.

"Zank you," was all he said before disappearing back inside his apartment.

I laughed, the sound echoing through the empty hallway, and started walking backwards up the stairs, just for the hell of it. When I got outside, I buzzed Christophe's apartment again.

"Allo?"

"You're welcome!" I yelled into the speaker. Not waiting for an answer, I started heading back in the direction I came from, actually on my way home this time. When I passed the hobo, I picked up his bottle of vodka and took a victory sip. Premature victory, maybe—Kyle and Christophe weren't together yet—but I knew it was only a matter of time.

I should have business cards printed. Agent Double-oh Kenny, Sector Love.


	7. Everything's Changed: Clyde

"You guys sleeping over?" I asked as Token, Craig, Tweek and I walked up my driveway. It was the last weekend of the month, so my parents weren't going to be home. They were doing their monthly week-away-from-South-Park thing they'd started back when I was in eighth grade. I couldn't really remember where they'd gone this time. Denver, maybe. All that really mattered to me was that they were gone and I had the house to myself. I liked being alone—I could do whatever I wanted—but it was nice to have company sometimes. Kenny had come over the other day with a musical porno version of Alice in Wonderland, from like, the seventies, that he'd found at the video store, and we'd gotten pizza and ice cream—I had to remember to clean up the pizza boxes and stuff tomorrow—and laughed our asses off at it. It was _so_ bad, and the chicks in it weren't even that hot, but it had still been one of the best times I'd had in weeks. Kenny was the only guy who'd watch stuff like that with me; Token always said he thought it was stupid, and the other guys, well, they weren't exactly into the whole girl thing.

Tweek twitched at me, and made a noise somewhere between a hiccup and a squeak. He looked up at Craig with wide eyes and I knew right then that they were both going to say no. That was the look Tweek got whenever he was scared to death of disappointing someone, or getting someone angry.

"I'm staying with Tweeker tonight," Craig said, shrugging. "So we can only stay here for a little while anyway."

Like that was a shock. Ever since that whole thing with Thomas last year, Craig hadn't gone two days without staying at Tweek's house. I'd stopped calling his house phone if I wanted to talk to him, and just called his cell phone, or, if I got his voice mail or something, Tweek's house. Generally, if I called Tweek, I'd get Craig anyway. And most of the time they were too busy hanging out with each other to come hang out with me and Token. I was really glad they were happy together—I was—but I kind of wished sometimes that I could just hang out with Craig, and play House of the Dead or something. Token was my best friend and everything, but he was _hopeless_ at that game. Craig and I had a high score we'd been trying to beat before all the him-Tweek-Thomas drama, and the closest Token and I had ever come was less than a third of that. I missed killing zombies with Craig. I'd barely even _seen_ him in the last year, between the times I was working, all the time he spent with Tweek, and all the time _he_ spent working—at Harbucks, so he even got to be with Tweek at work. Kyle's party was the first time in months I'd hung out with Craig for longer than fifteen minutes.

"What about you?" I asked Token, stopping at the bottom of my front steps to dig in my pocket for my keys. I almost dropped my Wii in the process—Kyle really needed to get his own—but managed to keep from smashing it on the concrete.

"Depends," he said with a shrug. "Will you play Tony Hawk with me?"

"But I suck at that game," I whined, swinging open my front door and going inside. "It's no fun losing all the time."

"I wouldn't know," Craig said from behind me. Token laughed and I turned to see them high-five each other.

My friends were such douchebags. I kicked off my shoes and said, just to piss him off, "You lost today."

"I made you lose?!" Tweek yelped, looking at Craig with wide eyes. "Oh, God, I'm sorry!"

Craig ruffled Tweek's hair and shook his head, smiling slightly. He slung his arm across Tweek's shoulders and looked at me, his smile disappearing as he rolled his eyes. "No, I didn't. He cheated."

"Well," I said, stalling as I tried to think of some kind of comeback. I should really think these kinds of things through a little more so I stopped looking so stupid all the time. "You know he's going to tell everyone he finally beat you."

Craig snorted. "I'll just tell everyone he's full of shit. Like they'd believe that dumbass over me anyway."

"You lost Smash Brothers too, though," Token pointed out.

I nodded, shooting Token a grateful look. At least he was on my side. "Yeah, I beat you!"

"I was playing as a fucking princess," Craig said, like that explained everything. He headed for my kitchen, pulling Tweek behind him, and called over his shoulder, "I'm making coffee."

I shook my head as the two of them disappeared through the doorway. "Why did I miss hanging out with him, again?" I asked Token, who was leaning against the wall by the door.

He snickered. "Aww, you missed him? That's so sweet, Clyde!"

"Dude, shut up," I said, wrinkling my nose. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know," he said, nodding. "But I have to tell you, I think you're going to be disappointed; there's no way you're splitting those two up."

"Douche," I muttered. Token just laughed and followed me across my living room to my open basement door, and down the stairs. I switched on the light and set my Wii on the floor. Kneeling on the carpet, I started to dig through the plastic tub that held all my video games. I had a Wii, an Xbox, and a PlayStation 2, so there were a lot of choices.

"Tony Hawk," was all Token said, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside me.

"Why?" I stretched the word out, making a face.

"Because I wanna," Token replied, his voice just as whiny as mine.

I pushed some more games around, finally pulling out the only Tony Hawk game I owned—the third one, for Xbox—and shoved it at my best friend. "Fine, here, put it in," I grumbled. "But I get to be first player."

"Sweet," Token said, standing up and moving to turn on my Xbox. "I'm so going to kick your ass."

"I know you are." I sighed, picking up one of the controllers and scooting forward so I was right in front of the TV. Token sat down beside me and grabbed the other controller.

We'd just started on our fourth five-minute-long game when Craig and Tweek found their ways downstairs. They sat together on the couch behind us and watched Token's virtual skater do all kinds of amazing stuff, while mine kept crushing its head on the ground. It was stupid; I pushed all the same buttons Token did, but somehow he pushed them _better_ or something, because the best trick I ever managed to do was jump straight up in the air. Which wasn't really a trick, I guess, since I got no points for it, but at least I landed without falling. Meanwhile, Token was getting like, eight thousand points for everything he did. It wasn't fair.

"Ow," I said for the zillionth time as blood splattered everywhere. It was just video game blood, but still. I managed to skate straight for two seconds before I skidded across the ground, leaving a trail of blood behind me. "Goddammit. I hate this game."

"I like it," Token said as he landed a trick combination worth eleven thousand points.

"Only 'cause you don't suck," I said, pushing buttons randomly and hoping I actually did something.

"Well, yeah, but you're the same way with Smash Brothers," said Token.

"I could have beaten you if Kenny hadn't made me be a girl," I heard Craig mutter from behind me.

"Aw, but you were so pretty," I said, ducking. My skater flew off its board again, but all I cared about was avoiding a _real-life_ injury. Sure enough, a second later Craig's foot flew over my head. I straightened up and laughed, pretty sure that if I looked behind me I'd see him flipping me off. He relied on that finger so often it was amazing he'd never sprained it. Knowing Craig, if that ever happened, he'd just flip off that finger with his _other_ middle finger. After all, there had to be _some_ reason humans were born with two hands.

"Clyde's right," Token said with a laugh, landing another ten-thousand-point trick.

I groaned, glancing at his score. I was going to lose _so_ bad. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him look at my half of the screen, and then he set down his controller on the floor. I looked at him, confused. We still had a minute and half left in the game. He waved his arm at the TV screen. I blinked at him.

"Dude, keep playing!" he said impatiently. "Maybe you can catch up."

"Are you kidding?" I mumbled, but focused again on trying not to kill my skater, half-paying attention to what Token was saying to Craig.

"If we put you in a dress, you _would_ look pretty good." He laughed, and I figured Craig had flipped him off too, and was probably glaring. He hadn't learned yet that his death-glare hadn't worked on Token or me since junior high. I was pretty sure he could death-glare Tweek into submission, though. But, when I really thought about it, Tweek was probably the one person Craig would _never_ use the death glare on, so that didn't even really matter.

And besides, he probably had other ways of getting Tweek to submit to his will. Craig was really a very persistent person, when he wanted something...

"You would!" Token insisted. I snickered, and accidentally pushed the wrong button, sending my skater crashing down on the virtual concrete. With a groan, I officially gave up, abandoning my controller on the floor, and turned around. Tweek's thermos was sitting on the table and Tweek himself was stretched out across the couch on his back, with his head resting on Craig's lap. Craig was leaning back, one hand tangled in Tweek's hair and the other resting on the arm of the couch. Of course he needed at least one middle finger free. I looked down at the floor in front of the couch. Sometimes seeing Craig and Tweek all couple-y like that made me feel weird and awkward. It wasn't because I had a problem with two guys dating—Butters and Cartman didn't make me feel like that. It was just something about my two friends that I still couldn't figure out.

"You'd have a better chance of getting Frenchy in a dress than me," Craig said.

Token snorted. "Yeah, right. We'd get killed."

Tweek shot up, and he would have fallen off my couch if Craig hadn't managed to catch him. "Jesus!" he squeaked, looking terrified. "You guys can't die! What'll – what'll I do if he kills you all?! Oh, _God_!"

"Calm down," Craig said, pulling Tweek into a hug. I looked down, feeling awkward again, and started picking at loose threads in the carpet. "We're not stupid enough to get killed by a French kid."

"But—" Tweek started, interrupting himself with a hiccup.

"Besides," Craig continued, and I could just see the smirk on his face. "I could take him."

"Oh, please," Token said immediately. "He'd give you tetanus with his rusty shovel. Or he'd just shoot you, and what would _you_ do? Show off your middle finger as you're lying there dying?"

" _Tetanus_!?"

I looked up to see Tweek staring at Token in horror. One arm still tightly wrapped around the blond, Craig used his free arm to flip Token off and say with a smirk, "I know Frenchy's weakness."

Token rolled his eyes at the middle finger. "So what is it, then?"

"Love," Craig said simply.

"Love?" I couldn't help the doubt in my voice. This was Christophe we were talking about, after all. I hadn't seen him have any emotion _ever_ , least of all love. It was all cold, creepy spy stuff when it came to him. I didn't think he knew what the word love _meant_. "How do you figure?"

Craig shrugged. "He was asking me stupid questions about love when we were smoking."

"Like what?" Token said before I could ask the exact same thing.

Craig glanced at Tweek for a split-second before answering. "Like...what love was, like I was supposed to be able to fucking _define_ it for him. And then he started speaking a bunch of fucking French, so I came back inside."

"How does that make love his weakness?" I didn't get it.

"Well, he obviously thinks he's in love with someone," Craig said, smirking again. "I just wish I knew who it was, so I could blackmail him into getting me smokes all the time."

Token rolled his eyes. "Right, because lung cancer for free is so much better than paying for it yourself."

After promising Tweek—who had almost had a heart attack at the word—that he wasn't going to get lung cancer, Craig just flipped Token off for the million and twelfth time, and said, "Whatever. You guys have any idea who Frenchy might want?"

I looked at Token. He looked back at me with the same blank expression I was sure I had on my face, and we both shrugged at each other. I hardly talked to Christophe. I barely even ever paid attention to him, even though he'd been hanging out with us for years. Honestly, I was pretty intimidated by him, and really, who wouldn't be? Kenny wasn't, but Kenny didn't really have anything to fear at all, so I wasn't sure if that even counted. Cartman was all talk. And Craig acted all tough and badass all the time, but I'd known him long enough to know that if he had to face a pissed off Christophe in a dark alley alone at night, he'd be just as worried for his life as the rest of us. He might stand a better chance against the French mercenary than say, me, but it would all end the same way: with another notch on Christophe's rusty old shovel, and another reason to stay on his good side.

"Ngh!" Tweek said suddenly. "I – I think I know who."

"Really?" I said, surprised that it was Tweek who had spoken up.

"Who?" Token asked at the same time, leaning forward eagerly.

Tweek looked from us to Craig, who was also looking at him, and twitched. He shut his eyes and leaned his forehead against Craig's shoulder, mumbling, "No – no, never mind, I'm probably – egh! – wrong. It's just – ngh! – stupid."

"Nothing you say is ever stupid, Tweeker," said Craig, looking down at Tweek with a smile. "Who do you think it is?"

"Kyle," Tweek mumbled, not lifting his head. I saw him tense up, like he was afraid we were all going to think the idea of Christophe liking Kyle was retarded and just laugh at him. We wouldn't, though. Well, not me, anyway. I wouldn't laugh at Tweek unless I wanted Craig pissed at me—and I really, really _didn't_ want him pissed at me, especially not now, when we were going to be hanging out in New York for a month. I couldn't wait; I'd never been out of South Park in my life, and now I was going on a trip to one of the most epic cities _ever_ with all of my friends. Well, most of them were my friends, anyway. Kenny and I had been talking at Kyle's house, and we'd decided that we _had_ to try to sneak into a movie premiere, with the celebrities and stuff. Even if we got caught and kicked out, at least we could say we'd done it. And I really wanted to go drop a marshmallow off the roof of the Empire State Building, just to see what would happen. I wondered if the hotel we were staying in had a good TV that I could hook up my Wii to, so that I could play House of the Dead with Craig while we were there. (If I could manage to pry him away from Tweek for five minutes. Or however long it took us to beat our high score.) Stan would know; he'd been the one to book the place. I'd have to try to remember to call him tomorrow before I packed, so I could ask him. He'd pretty much looked like death tonight when he left Kyle's, so I figured it'd be nice to let him sleep off whatever had happened to him.

Anyway, yeah, Tweek didn't have to worry about me laughing at him. And really, when I started thinking about it, Christophe liking Kyle actually made sense.

"Kyle?" Craig looked at Token when his only response from Tweek was a little whimper. Token shrugged at him, and then they both looked at me. I felt pretty good about myself for understanding why Tweek figured it was Kyle before they did. Maybe I wasn't as stupid as life always made me feel like I was.

"Well," I said with a little shrug of my own. "He did give him that ring, which cost like, a million dollars."

"That's true..." Token said slowly. I could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he figured it out too. "You know what? I think the only time I've ever seen him smile is when he's talking to Kyle."

"Fuck, man, that's too perfect," Craig said, a grin spreading across his face. "Frenchy wants Kyle." He laughed. Tweek lifted his head off Craig's shoulder and smiled this tiny smile like he was proud of himself for figuring it all out, and making Craig happy. I'd be proud of myself too, if I made Craig happy—he wasn't the most cheerful person in the world at the best of times. I blamed his family. His parents fought, like, _all_ the time. I guess that explained why he was always over at Tweek's, but still, it wouldn't kill him to come hang out with me for a night, would it?

"Doesn't he know that Kyle and Stan are like, soulmates?" Craig was saying. He was still laughing, which was pretty douchey even for him. I just shrugged so I didn't have to say anything. Liking someone who didn't like you back _sucked_.

"Doesn't always work that way," Token said. "Butters and Cartman were never best friends."

"Yeah, but it's Kyle and Stan," Craig said. He had that tone again, the one that was like, _"I'm right, deal with it."_ He was so full of himself sometimes, and I wondered again why I'd missed him— _hanging out with_ him—so much in the last year.

Craig's pocket started singing some old Slipknot song all of a sudden, and he pulled out his cell phone. "Dammit," he muttered, slamming the phone shut and standing. Tweek jumped up too.

"You're leaving?" I whined. "But you've only been here for like, five minutes."

My response was a middle finger, and Craig saying irritably, "My fucking sister locked herself out, and my parents aren't home. I have to go let her in."

"Oh," I said, feeling stupid again, even though I knew it wasn't me he was pissed at. "See you...Monday?"

"Yeah," he said, crossing my basement to the stairs. "Later. Bye, Token."

"See ya," Token said, nodding at the two of them. Tweek twitched and half-waved at us, and scurried up the stairs after Craig.

I heard my front door open and shut a few seconds later. I sighed, wishing that we could have all hung out longer, like we'd used to. Things were so different now. It was like everything had changed in one year, and it really, really, pretty much just sucked. I looked over at Token, about to ask him if he wanted to play House of the Dead with me—even though I knew we wouldn't break any records—but he was already watching me. He looked like he wanted to laugh at me, and I blinked, uncomfortably. "What?"

"Nothing," he said innocently. "It's just so _cute_ how much you totally missed Craig."

"Dude, shut up," I said, leaning over and digging through my plastic tub of games again. So what if I'd missed him? That wasn't anything to be ashamed of, right? I hadn't seen him for like, a fucking _year_. "You sleeping over or what?"

I heard Token snicker. "Maybe. Hey, maybe you should ask Craig if you can sleep over with him and Tweek one night," he said innocently.

"Shut _up_!" I said, glad I wasn't facing him so he couldn't see how red I could feel my face going. Sometimes I wondered why he was my best friend, seriously. I didn't make fun of him half as much as he made fun of me.

He laughed again. "Whatever, Clyde, I'm just being an asshole."

"I know," I muttered, pulling out House of the Dead from the plastic tub. "But stop it." I set the game down on the floor and stood up to bring my Wii over to the TV so I could hook it back up. "Kill zombies with me?"

"Only if you play two more games of Tony Hawk with me." Token picked up his Xbox controller again.

"Goddammit. Fine. Just let me plug my Wii in," I said, untangling the cords. I glanced at him. "So are you sleeping over?"

"Yeah, I guess," Token said, shrugging. "I'll have to go home in the morning so I can get all my stuff for Monday though."

"Yeah, I have to pack still too," I said. "Dammit, and don't let me forget to clean up my living room."

"Clean up your living room."

I rolled my eyes, but laughed. I couldn't pretend I hadn't known that was coming. "Thanks," I said sarcastically, setting the Wii's sensor bar on top of my TV and crawling back to where my controller was lying on the floor.

"Anytime," Token said, making it sound like he'd just done me a huge favour. "What would you do without me?"

I pressed the button that would start a new game and looked at him out of the corner of my eye. "Well," I said, as our video game characters started skateboarding around. "I wouldn't get my ass kicked at this game all the time."


	8. 3 AM: Cartman

"Kyle sure looked sad today."

I snorted, but I had been in the middle of eating a Cheesy Poof, and instead of laughing like I'd meant to, I started to cough. "Christ," I muttered when I could breathe again, taking a gulp of Coke from the bottle beside me. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I looked at Butters, but stopped myself from rolling my eyes when I saw how worried he looked. Instead, I half-smiled at him. "I'm fine," I said reaching out to pat him on the shoulder.

"You sure?" He looked so goddamn cute when he was worried. His forehead was all scrunched up and his eyes were full of concern—for _me_. That was something I wasn't sure I would ever get used to.

"Yeah, I'm sure." My half-smile turned into a whole smile as he grinned happily at me, completely reassured. For reasons I would _never_ in my life understand, Butters trusted me. Out of all the people we knew, he had picked _me_.

It was a Tuesday, in tenth grade, when he came out to everyone. We'd all known, obviously—it was Butters, for Christ's sake—so it wasn't big news to us when he stuttered his way through a confession at lunch one day, shaking like he was a fucking cell phone on vibrate, or something. When he'd finally managed to get the words out, he'd looked around at everybody like it was a huge surprise announcement, and come to sit at _our_ table, of all places. It had only been me, Kyle, and Stan that day—Kenny had died that morning; Clyde, Token, Craig, and Tweek had their own table; Frenchy always sat by himself, glowering at everybody else from one of the corners of the cafeteria like he was the fucking king of the goddamn place. Kyle and Stan sort of just shrugged it off, but I'd said something sarcastic about how his parents must be _so proud_ to have a fag for a son. And I'd started laughing, but stopped in the middle of it because Butters looked like he was going to cry.

If it had been anybody else, I would just kept right on laughing, because what kind of guy _cries_ in the cafeteria? The thought of Butters crying, though, made it impossible for me to laugh, and I felt _bad_ for him. I faked my way through a coughing fit, to cover up the fact that I'd just all of a sudden stopped ripping on him, and crammed a couple of Snacky Cakes in my mouth so I wouldn't have to say anything right away. Kyle sort of looked at me, out of the corner of his eye, and when I finally swallowed, I glared at him and said, making my voice as pissed-off as possible, "What the fuck are you looking at, Jew?"

"Nothing," he said, in that tone he had that made it very clear that he was looking at _something_ , he was just too much of goddamn Jew rat to admit it.

"Goddamn right, nothing!" I slammed my fist down on the table.

Kyle just rolled his eyes at me and kept eating. I picked up my fork to start on my cafeteria lasagne, when I felt eyes on me. I looked up to see Butters watching me. He was rocking back and forth in his chair, slowly, and when our eyes met he blushed and stuttered, "E – Eric? Can I – can I talk to you alone for a s – second?"

He always called me Eric. Still does, and I'm still not sure why. I've never asked. I think he sees me differently than everyone else does, even though I don't change the way I act much when I'm only with him. I still rip on him, still call him a pussy, still get frustrated at him and say a bunch of crap I know I don't mean. I think somehow he knows I don't mean it, too, and that's why he never seems too upset when I go off on him. He understands that that's the way I am, and for some reason he still loves me for it. There've been a few times where I've been enough of an asshole to really hurt his feelings, but when the brightness goes out of his eyes and he starts being all quiet, I know I _really_ fucked up. I _hate_ making him feel so bad. Not just because he feels that way, but because then it means I have to make it better, and I have so much trouble doing that. Any time I try to apologize, the words get stuck in my throat and I feel so goddamn awkward about it. But even when I'm standing there, with my mouth opening and closing like a fucking retard goldfish, I know that in the end Butters is worth a few minutes of feeling stupid like that. Christ, I sound like a chick. If any of the other guys knew that I thought things like that, I'd never hear the end of it—especially from Jewboy.

I sighed, this really exasperated-sounding sigh, and said, "Goddammit, Butters. Now?"

I wasn't as unwilling as I sounded, but I had to pretend I couldn't stand him, or else everyone else would know something was up. For my own reasons, I was hardly ever _genuinely_ nice; not even to Kenny, and he was kind of my best friend. We weren't gay little Super Best Friends like Jewboy and Stan called themselves, and more often than not we pissed each other off, but he was the nearest thing to a best friend I had. That didn't stop me from ripping on him for being poor and crap, though, so if I was all of a sudden nice to _anyone_ , it got noticed. And talked about. For weeks. Being known as an asshole I could handle, but not every kid in school trying to figure out why I'd actually been nice to someone. Especially if _Butters_ was that someone. I'd known I had a thing for him since middle school, but it wasn't like that was something I could ever say. I was always the first one to rag on all the gays in the world; there was no way I was going to admit to everyone I had a goddamn _crush_ on Butters Stotch.

Besides, he was Butters—innocent, blond, so-sweet-it's-better-than-chocolate Butters. What the hell would he want with someone like me?

He just nodded at me, and with another sigh, I rolled my eyes and pushed my tray away from the table, standing. He jumped up too, but just stood there. I waved one of my arms in the air, trying to tell him to start moving, almost smacking Bebe in the head as she walked by.

"Watch it, Fatass!" she snapped, glaring at me before stalking over to her table to sit with Wendy and Heidi and Red.

"Bitch," I muttered, refusing to let the insult really get to me. I'd been called Fatass my whole life, and I'd stopped actually denying it once we hit high school. There just wasn't any point anymore. I wasn't stupid like everyone thought I was; I knew I was more than just "big-boned", like I'd always said in elementary school. I'd just stopped giving a fuck about everyone else; it wasn't like they didn't have their own things to be ashamed about. Kevin's dad had just gotten arrested for selling kiddie porn over the Internet, for Christ's sake, where the fuck did they get off judging me? I mean, really, who's the bigger loser?

Butters was still just standing beside the table, looking down at his feet, and I was getting impatient. I reached over and grabbed his arm, dragging him through the cafeteria and out into the nearly-empty hallway. I almost crashed into Tweek on the way, and Craig looked at me like he wanted to punch me, but I didn't have time to deal with that asshole, so I just ignored them both. I could kick his ass later. I dropped Butters' arm and leaned against the wall, waiting for him to say something.

He stood there, looking around nervously for a second, and then whispered, "I – I need your h – help, Eric. Please?"

I don't know if it was the fact that he said please or just that he was asking for _my_ help, but whatever the reason, I was so surprised I forgot to be an asshole. I just looked into his bright blue eyes and nodded. "With what?"

"My – my parents." He was still whispering, staring at his feet. "They don't know, and I want y – you to be there when I tell them."

"Why me?" I asked after a few seconds of silence. I was stunned.

He looked up at me. His cheeks were pink, and he looked confused. With a kind of half-shrug he said, "W – well, Eric, I l – like you."

He said the words so plainly, so innocently. Like he thought it was obvious.I blinked a few times, sure that I was imagining things. This had to be some trick, something Stan and Kyle'd thought up to fuck with me. Get Butters to say he's gay for me, ha-ha-ha. Fuck, that would mean that they _knew_. No. Goddammit, no. They couldn't know, there was no way they could ever have figured it out. Even if they had, they would have said something before now, and not used Butters. They talked to him even less than I did. And Kyle had never really been into teasing Butters as much as the rest of us. (He said it was because he had a conscience; I said it was because he was a goody two shoes Jew.) Putting Butters up to something like this wasn't goody-two-shoes-Jew style, and Stan was so gay for his best friend that he wouldn't do it if Kyle wasn't doing it.

Besides, Butters almost never lied, and when he did, even a blind retard could see the guilt on his face.

Jesus Christ.

It took me less than thirty seconds to go through all that in my head and finally realize that Butters sincerely meant what he said, that he liked _me,_ and wanted _me_ with him when he came out to his parents. Being sure to keep my voice low, I said, "Does that you mean you want to...?" I intentionally left the sentence unfinished, not wanting to say the words _be together_ out loud. We weren't completely alone in the hallway, and even the teachers in our high school gossiped about us.

He smiled at me—a shy, nervous Butters-smile—and just nodded. I sort of smiled back at him, and then Clyde came out of the cafeteria, so I had to say something douchey—I don't even remember what. When he was gone, I put my hand on Butters' shoulder and said, "I'll be there."

I was trying to think up some stupid lie when I went back inside the cafeteria, but when I sat down at the table again, I realized I didn't even have to worry. Kenny was there now, and he was talking to Kyle and Stan about something Satan had done. I wasn't listening, though. I wasn't really listening to much for the rest of the day. Three thirty didn't come fast enough for me. When the bell finally rang, I met Butters out behind the school, and we headed over to his house.

I'd been expecting his parents to be angrier about it, to try to ground him or something—since they grounded him for _breathing_ wrong—but I guess even they had resigned themselves to the fact that their only son was gay. They didn't even seem all that upset that he wanted to be with me, of all people. His mom did the whole, _"We-love-you-no-matter-what,"_ speech, and his dad just shrugged and told Butters that if that was really what he wanted, well, then it was really up to him. I was pretty sure Butters had been expecting them to have more of a reaction too, judging by the way he hid behind me while he told them. When they'd just accepted it, he'd been so happy I couldn't help but be happy too.

My mom hadn't been upset by the whole thing either, but I think a big reason why might have been because she was just happy that I'd found anyone to be with at all. I wouldn't blame her, if that was true; I'd been pretty sure I was going to be alone my whole life too. I'd never thought that I would be with Butters. And judging by the looks we got the next day when we walked into school holding hands, nobody else had either.

But here we were, a year and a half later. We were still together, still happy, and—even though it sounds cheesy and retarded and _gay_ —still in love. I did love him, even though I hardly ever said the words to him. He said them enough for the both of us, though, so it balanced out. I just had trouble with that kind of thing.

We'd gone to my house after Kyle's party, since my mom wasn't home this weekend. We'd been up in my room, but had come downstairs to watch a movie or something about an hour ago. We'd been sitting on my living room couch, watching Braveheart, when he'd suddenly said that thing about Kyle looking sad today that had made me almost cough up a lung.

"Jewboy's probably just sick again," I said, popping another Cheesy Poof in my mouth, chewing, and swallowing carefully this time.

"I don't know," Butters said, turning his whole body to face me. "I think maybe he – he had a fight with Stan, or – or Christophe, or something. He looked so upset when they were both gone."

I rolled my eyes. "He and Stan probably just had a lovers' quarrel."

Butters' eyes widened. "Th – they're dating? I didn't even know..."

I couldn't help smiling at that. Even after a year and a half, Butters still had a hard time catching on to my sarcasm. "No, they're not dating. They should be though; it's fucking obvious that Kyle is Stan's like, ultimate homo fantasy."

Butters blushed. He always did, when I said stuff like that. It was cute. I still couldn't believe he'd managed to grow up in South Park and stay so innocent. "But then, well, w – what about Christophe?"

"Maybe he's jealous." I snickered. "Whatever. Don't worry about them."

"I just don't want anyone to be so sad so close to – to our trip," he said. "Especially Kyle, since it's his birthday present and all."

"Butters, I'm pretty sure that the plane could get shot down by hippies, and he could be the only survivor, and Kyle would still think his birthday this year was better than last year," I said.

Butters gasped, and he looked terrified at the thought. Goddammit. I'd _known_ he was really sensitive about things like dying—he'd told me once that it was his biggest fear ever. ( It didn't really make sense to me; we were all friends with Kenny, for Christ's sake, and that kid had been dying his whole life. There wasn't much we didn't know about death, thanks to him). His next-biggest fear had been being on an airplane, so I'd just managed to scare him double with one stupid sentence. I wished I'd kept my goddamn mouth shut. Now I was going to have to try to make him feel better. I wasn't even sure if I'd be _able_ to make him feel better after saying something like that.

"J – jeez, Eric!" he stuttered. "D – don't say that! I don't want to die and n – never see you again!"

"Butters, I'm—" I stopped in the middle of trying to apologize, but not because I was having trouble saying the words this time. It was because of what Butters had just said. "Wait. What? Never see me again?"

He blinked at me, and then looked down and mumbled, "W – well, it's just. I d – don't know where we'll g – go when we, well, you know."

"Yeah, we do," I said. I picked up my can of Coke and finished it off. "Kenny dies all the time; he's _told_ us about the afterlife."

"Well, jeez, Eric, I know that," Butters looked up, but he was looking above me, not directly at me. "B – but, it's just that, well, which one are we going to go t – to?"

I opened my mouth to say that obviously Butters was going to go to Heaven when he died, because he was _Butters_ , but right then I got what he meant. There was no way I would ever be good enough to weasel my way up there with him, not even if I started being as nice I could be right now and lived until fucking two hundred. There was no question about it; I would be hanging out with the Prince of Darkness. Which I actually thought would be awesome, but I would never tell Butters that. And, I guess, if he wasn't there too, it wouldn't be as awesome as it could be.

"Don't worry, Butters," I said, trying to be as reassuring as I could, even though now I was starting to really understand why death was his biggest fear. He didn't want to be away from me, and honestly, I wasn't too thrilled with the idea of being away from him either; I _did_ actually care about him. "It's not going to happen. And even if it did, I'd just piss off Satan so much he'd send me up to God just to get away from me."

Butters bit his bottom lip. "Y – you promise?" he said, finally.

"I promise," I said. He didn't look very comforted, so I reached over and put my arm around him. "If anyone could piss off that asshole, I could."

"Well... I guess that's true," Butters mumbled innocently, curling up beside me.

"Goddamn right," I said, smiling down at the top of his head. We were both quiet for a little while, then, just watching the movie. Thank God, I'd managed to fix _that_ little fuck-up in record time.

"Eric?" Butters said, after a little while. I'd been drifting off—I was so goddamn tired for some reason—but his voice brought me back to reality. I glanced up at the clock on my wall. Jesus, it was almost three AM already. No wonder I could barely keep my eyes open.

"Yeah?" I said, yawning.

"When – when we get to New York, can we go see the Statue of Liberty?"

"Butters," I said, shifting so I could see his face. He blinked up at me and I could see that he was tired too. "When we get to New York, we can do anything you want to."

He smiled, a sleepy smile, and closed his eyes. Within seconds, he was fast asleep. I turned off my TV, the only light we'd had, and rested my head on the arm of my couch, listening to him breathe. I meant what I'd said; anything Butters wanted to do in New York we would do. If he wanted to follow hobos around Central Park and give them all a dollar, I would go with him.

He just meant that much to me.


	9. Broadway: Token

"Jesus, Clyde," I said, shoving the fifth pizza box I'd found in his living room into the giant garbage bag I was holding. "What did you and Kenny _do_?"

He looked up at me from across the room, where he'd been trying to scrub dried pizza sauce off the wall, but I held up my hand before he could answer me. "Actually, no, maybe I don't want to know." I smirked, just a little, so he knew exactly what I was implying, and went back to what I was doing. When we'd gotten up this morning—eleven fifty-three, just _barely_ morning—Clyde had whined at me to help him clean his living room. He'd said it would take him the whole day by himself, and I'd just laughed, but judging by the condition of the room now, when I was on my second giant garbage bag and he'd already spent fifteen minutes trying to get rid of that pizza sauce, he hadn't been exaggerating. It was already almost two; I had to go home soon so I could throw some stuff in a suitcase. We were leaving in less than twenty-four hours.

"Dude," Clyde said, and I looked up to see him staring unhappily at me.

"What?" I shrugged and threw a mostly-empty ice cream container into my garbage bag. There was only a spoon left in it, and I figured Clyde's house could handle losing one spoon. "It's not my business what you and Kenny do by yourselves when you're home alone."

"Quit it," he whined. He kicked an empty Coke can across the carpet at me and I stopped it with my toe before crushing it under my heel and kicking it into my garbage bag—I didn't feel like recycling today. "We were watching a—movie."

"Oh, a _movie_ ," I said, nodding in understanding. He'd hesitated for a second before saying the word, so I figured it had to have been another porno. He knew I thought they were retarded, so he'd never come right out and tell me he'd been watching one. Like he thought I wouldn't be able to figure it out. He'd been my best friend for years; I knew him better than he knew himself. "One of _those_?"

He nodded, and scrubbed at the pizza sauce on the wall again. I leaned over to pick up _another_ pizza box. He was turning red already. This was too easy.

"You know, I read somewhere that sometimes when people watch porn together, it's kind of like an aphrodisiac." I couldn't look at him while I said that; I wouldn't be able to keep myself from cracking up if I saw the look of horror I knew he'd have on his face. I concentrated on picking chip crumbs out of the carpet. Seriously. _Way_ too easy.

"Dude, Kenny's a _guy_." He said that like I'd never seen Kenny before in my life. I laughed.

"Yeah, I know," I said. "That's what I'm saying."

"Why would you... Dude, sick," he complained, making a face at me. "I'm not gay, man."

"Okay." I shrugged again.

"I'm _not_."

"Okay, I said." I found a half-full—of fries—paper bag from KFC behind the couch and tossed it in the garbage bag before I could really think about how long it had been there. Clyde so owed me at least five games of Tony Hawk for helping him clean up this place. His parents had been taking off once a month since we were thirteen, and every time, Clyde's house ended up a disgusting mess. He just couldn't seem to manage cleaning up after himself. I didn't envy anyone who ended up living with him. He was my best friend and everything, but I didn't ever want to have to be his roommate if he was going to live like this his whole life.

"You're such a douche, sometimes," he mumbled at me.

"More or less of a douche than Craig?" I asked, raising my eyebrows at him.

He blushed again, and I laughed. I'd only asked that question to see his reaction when I said Craig's name. Poor Clyde. He _so_ obviously had a huge crush on Craig, but he was so stuck in denial I didn't think he even realized it. Not that anybody but me seemed to notice it either, but I knew I wasn't wrong; I was around Clyde enough that I could pick up on things like that. I didn't want to just come right out and tell him, though. I mean, I wouldn't appreciate it if someone came up to me and tried to tell me that even though _I_ thought I preferred Lord of the Rings to Harry Potter, _they_ knew differently. I'd get pissed off at them for thinking they knew more about me than I did, and Clyde was a lot like me that way, so I was pretty sure if I tried to tell him that he actually liked guys more than he told himself he did, we'd just end up fighting. So, of course, I chose to tease him about it. All the time. Because maybe one day some "joke" I made about it would hit a nerve and he'd figure out that it was true. In his own time. Although, maybe I shouldn't even be doing that, because even if it did work eventually, and he did come to realize his less-than-straightness, it was Craig he wanted. And Craig had Tweek. _Nothing_ was going to come between those two, not after Thomas.

Shit. Maybe I should stop teasing him.

"More, since I never see Craig long enough anymore for him to really be a douche," Clyde muttered sulkily.

"Well, we'll all be hanging out for a month," I pointed out, dragging my now-full garbage bag to the middle of the room and tying a knot in the top. "I'm sure he'll have many opportunities to be a douche to you."

"Yeah," Clyde said thoughtfully, then blinked like he'd just remembered something. "I have to call Stan."

"Why?" I pushed open the sliding doors of the Donovan's closet and pulled out another garbage bag from the box inside.

"I wanna know if the hotel rooms have TVs I can hook my Wii up to," he said, dropping the cloth he'd been using on the coffee table. "So Craig and I can play House of the Dead."

"What, I'm not good enough at it for you?" I pretended to be sincerely hurt, and he rolled his eyes at me. I laughed. I knew I was awful at House of the Dead—almost as awful as Clyde was at Tony Hawk. I got a little trigger happy, and starting shooting all the innocent people—that we were supposed to be trying to save—along with the zombies. Clyde got so frustrated with me, but I couldn't help it. I was like that with all first-person shooter games. I played by one rule: if it moves, shoot its fucking head off. It made the games easier, really.

"He's better," Clyde said with a shrug.

"Yeah, I know," I said, as he left the living room in search of a phone. I'd watched them play a few times last year. They really did make a good zombie-slaughtering team. There weren't many video games that Craig was bad at, actually. He had serious Guitar Hero and Rock Band skills, and he'd played Tony Hawk with me before—even he could manage to get over at least five thousand points a game. Smash Brothers was the only thing he epically failed at. Even when he wasn't "playing as a fucking princess". The princess wasn't the problem; he was. I'd played as Peach a million times and I could still win every once in awhile. But then, I guess Craig hadn't played Smash Brothers in over a year, since Clyde was the only one of us who owned it, and Craig hadn't hung out with him—or anyone but Tweek, actually—in that long. I hadn't really minded all that much; it wasn't like I _never_ saw him. I'd go to Harbucks every once in awhile to say hi and whatever, and see how things were. Tweek was usually working the same shifts—naturally he worked there too—so I'd get to see them both. We'd talk for a few minutes and then I'd go on to wherever it was I was going. Most times I went to the video store where Clyde worked. It was usually pretty dead and we could steal popcorn and watch movies—actual movies, not pornos—and still hang out, since Clyde was working practically twenty-four/seven. I didn't have to work to get money for the trip, and I could tell all the other guys were insanely jealous of me because of that. Sometimes being rich really, really came in handy.

I'd given up trying to find all the garbage scattered around the room—it was like a treasure hunt, but way less fun—and was taking a turn at scrubbing at the pizza sauce on the wall when Clyde wandered back into the room, talking on his cordless phone.

"You're sure?" he said. "I don't want to bring my Wii for nothing." He listened for a second. "Yeah, okay. That makes sense. Okay."

I waved at him, and he rolled his eyes before saying to who I assumed was Stan, "Yeah. Token says hi." He covered the mouthpiece with one hand and said, "Stan says hey."

"How is he?" I asked, glaring at the pizza sauce. It looked like Clyde was going to have it on his wall as a permanent decoration.

"How are you doing, anyway?" Clyde asked Stan. Then, to me, he said, "He says he's okay, he was just sick last night."

"Well, at least he's better now. Being sick on planes seriously sucks," I said. I would know. There'd been one time when I was younger when my parents and I had gone to Europe for the summer, and I'd had to fly with the worst stomachache in the history of stomachaches. That was like, over ten hours of suckage, right there. "Tell him I say—"

"I'll just put him on speakerphone and you can talk to him yourself," Clyde interrupted me, pushing the button on the phone and setting it down on the table. "Hey, dude. You're on speakerphone now."

"Oh, good," Stan's sarcastic voice came through the phone.

"Don't worry; we're not recording the conversation to blackmail you or anything. It's just me and Clyde," I said.

"Dude, what would you even blackmail me for?" Stan said, and I could just see him rolling his eyes at me.

"I don't know. What secrets are you hiding?" I laughed.

There was a long silence. I looked over at Clyde. "Did he hang up?"

"No," Stan said, and he sounded tired all of a sudden. "I'm here."

"Are you okay, man?" Clyde said. He stuck his thumb in his mouth and started chewing on his nail. He always did that when he was worried, even after I'd told him it made him look like a kindergartener.

"Yeah, I'm good," said Stan, in the same tired voice. Obviously there was _something_ wrong, but I wasn't going to push it, if he didn't want to talk about it.

"Don't you go getting the plague on us," I said. "That can't be good for your soul."

"I don't have the plague. Just a headache," he said.

"Kyle had a headache too. Maybe that's the form the plague is taking this time," I said.

"Dude, shut up." Clyde rolled his eyes at me. "Isn't he a douche?" he asked Stan.

"Is there a safe way to answer that question?" Stan said after a minute.

"I'm not as big of a douche as Craig!" I said, laughing as Clyde turned red for the third time in less than five minutes. "Or Christophe," I added, remembering our cynical sort-of friend. "Frenchy's definitely got douche in his heritage."

"I should go," Stan said. I heard him cough. "I still have to pack."

"Oh, crap, me too," Clyde and I said at the same time.

"Wow, stereo," said Stan. He laughed a little, and I figured that whatever was wrong couldn't be that big of a deal, since he didn't seem as epically miserable as he had at Kyle's party the night before. "I'll see you guys tomorrow."

"See ya," I said, returning my attention to the wall. I looked at the cloth, like maybe if I stared at it long enough it would suddenly gain magic pizza-sauce-removing powers.

"Later, man," said Clyde. He hung up the phone and tossed it on the couch, then came to stand beside me and watch my battle with the wall.

"You know what?" he said suddenly, leaning forward and looking more closely at the red spot. "This might not even be pizza sauce."

"What the hell else could it be?" I said, blinking at him. "What else did you and Kenny have?"

"Nothing, just pizza and ice cream," he said, picking at the dried red stuff with his fingernail. "Kenny kind of died for a few minutes though. Maybe it's blood."

"He kind of died? What, he just exploded in your living room while you guys were watching a porno?" I closed my eyes, trying to shove the images out of my head, and said, "Ugh, no. No, no, no, that came out _so_ wrong."

"Sick," Clyde whined again, and I knew his mind had gone straight to the gutter, just like mine. "He accidentally stabbed himself with the knife he was using to eat the ice cream."

"Why the hell was he using a _knife_?" I blinked at him, and Clyde shrugged.

"We didn't have any more spoons," he said.

I looked at the garbage bag I'd thrown the empty ice cream container into. Oops. Maybe they couldn't afford to lose a spoon after all. Oh well; too late now.

"So now Kenny's blood won't come off your wall," I said, shaking my head. "Dude, your parents aren't going to be happy."

"You think they'll notice?" He started chewing on his thumbnail again.

"It's a big red stain on a white wall. How could they not notice?" I scrubbed at it again, but it wasn't coming off, at all.

"Dammit." Clyde stared at it for a few seconds and then turned to me. "You think they'd stay mad enough to yell at me when we got back from New York?"

"I don't know, dude." I shrugged, and handed him the cloth. "I have to go home and pack, though."

"I'll get them a kickass souvenir," Clyde said as I tied my shoes. "They can't be too pissed at me if I have a present for them."

I laughed. "See you at the airport," I said, waving at him before closing the door and heading home.

... ... ...

I didn't live that far away from Clyde's, so it only took me about ten minutes to walk home. My parents had finally moved to a smaller house that wasn't way the hell out in the middle of nowhere when I was in ninth grade. It was still a pretty big house, compared to my friends' houses, but nothing like the giant mansion we'd had before. I liked the smaller house better; I wasn't constantly finding hallways I'd never seen before and getting lost in my own home. Living so close to everyone else was nice too, since it meant that I didn't have to whine at my parents for a ride if I wanted to go somewhere. I didn't have my license—I kept saying I was going to go take the test, and never did—and I really, _really_ hated taking the bus from out there. There were always five or six stereotypical rich, pretentious assholes on that bus, and I couldn't stand being around them for longer than five seconds—a twenty-minute long bus ride was just torture.

"Hey, Mom," I said, waving at her in the kitchen as I passed, on my way to the stairs.

"Oh, Token, could you come in here please?" she called after me. I walked backwards until I stood in the kitchen doorway. She was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a magazine.

"What's up?" I asked, leaning against the wall. I really wanted to just get upstairs and start getting my stuff together, but I tried to be patient.

"Does Kyle like Shakespeare?" she asked. I blinked. That was a weird question.

"I think so," I said, thinking back to English class. Kyle had seemed pretty into the Shakespeare we'd done there. What had that been? MacBeth, or Hamlet? One of those. There'd been a lot of death in it.

"Oh, good," she said, smiling.

"Why?" I asked, going to the cupboard and grabbing a glass. As long as I was down here I might as well get something to drink.

"Well, your dad got a few free tickets to Hamlet on Broadway," she said. "And since you and your friends are going to New York anyway, we thought maybe you could give them to Kyle as an extra birthday present."

"Oh," I said. I filled my glass with water from the sink and took a sip. "That's cool. I think he'll enjoy that."

"I'll get your dad to leave the tickets on the table when he gets home from work later," she said. "Just don't forget to grab them before you leave in the morning."

"I won't," I said.

"Are you all packed and everything?"

I shrugged, finishing my water before answering. "Not yet. I was going to go finish that now." Actually, I was going to go _start_ packing now, but she didn't have to know that I'd left it 'till the last minute.

"Well, you'd better make sure you get that done," she said, turning a page in the magazine she was reading.

I set my glass down in the sink. "Yeah, I will. I don't need _that_ much stuff." I started heading to my room again, but my mom was apparently not finished yet.

"Do you have your plane ticket?"

"Kyle's got them."

"All of them?"

"Yeah. It was easier to just trust him with all of them."

"That's a lot of responsibility."

"Kyle's got more responsibility in his nature than most of the rest of us combined," I said. I kept my back to her so she couldn't see me rolling my eyes. My mom worried way too much sometimes.

"Well, I suppose someone has to watch out for you little ones." I heard her laugh. "He's not the only one who's eighteen now, is he?"

"No," I said, slowly starting to walk away from the kitchen. "Kenny, Christophe, and Craig are all ancient too."

"You'll be ancient yourself, soon," she reminded me.

"Yeah, yeah," I said, almost to the stairs. "But not for three weeks or something."

"Well, enjoy your youth while you can," she called. "It doesn't last forever."

"Maybe I'll find the Fountain of Youth in New York!" I called back. She laughed at me again, and I just smiled and shook my head as I went upstairs. My mom was pretty awesome sometimes. I thought about calling Kyle to tell him about the Hamlet tickets now, but decided to wait until tomorrow. I could just keep it a surprise and hand him however many tickets my dad had gotten when we got to the airport. I was _pretty_ sure he liked Shakespeare.

I glanced at my clock as I pulled my suitcase out of my closet and dropped it on my floor with a thunk. It was only about two thirty, but I wished it was night already so I could sleep and make the time go by faster. In twenty-two and a half hours I would be on a plane with my best friends, on our way to hang out in New York City for an entire month by ourselves. I wondered what everyone else was doing right now.


	10. Make Me Believe: Tweek

I couldn't understand how Craig could be so calm when it was already three in the afternoon, we were leaving _tomorrow_ , and he still didn't have _anything_ packed. We were going to _New York,_ Jesus, we were _flying_ halfway across the country, and if somehow our plane didn't get hijacked by terrorists and crash and we all died, and we actually got to where we were going, Craig was going to need his stuff, but he couldn't have his stuff if he didn't go home and _get_ 'd gone to his house last night to let his sister in, and he made me some coffee since I'd drank all the coffee he'd made me at Clyde's house, but when I'd asked him if he was going to pack while we were there he laughed and told me he would do it tomorrow. Tomorrow was _today_ and today was _now_ , and he was still _here_ at _my_ house, just sitting on my bed watching _me_ pack. I had the two suitcases my dad had gotten me from work, Harbucks suitcases, open on my floor but I was having trouble concentrating on what I was doing. I felt like I should be packing my stuff faster, since Craig was watching me and probably getting really impatient and if I didn't hurry up and finish soon he was going to get mad at me and leave, and, Christ, maybe he would just stay home and then I'd be on a plane without him and then it _would_ crash and he wouldn't be there and I would never get to say goodbye…

"Ngh!" I didn't want to die, not now, not ever, but especially not if I had to die by myself. I wouldn't _really_ be by myself if our plane crashed, I knew that, I'd have Clyde and Token and everyone, but I wouldn't have Craig, and I felt more alone when I didn't have him than any other time. I'd been so sure last year that I was going to feel alone like that for the rest of my life, when... When Craig and Thomas... But that was over, I had Craig again, and when he said forever I believed him.

"Tweeker, you okay?" I looked up at him from where I stood, shaking in the middle of my room. He was leaning against the wall, with his legs stretched out across my bed, and his cell phone in one hand. He wasn't looking at the phone, though, he was looking at me, and he looked _worried,_ not angry or impatient or like he was going to storm out of my house and never talk to me again. I felt myself relax, just a little bit, but the thought of our plane crashing and killing us all was still in my head.

"I don't – I don't want to die!" I blurted out, immediately feeling stupid.

"What?"

"T – ghh! – tomorrow." If I kept standing I was going to fall, and probably land wrong and break a bone, and have to go to the hospital, Jesus, and I hate hospitals, so I dropped to my knees, wrapping both my arms around myself. It was always so _cold_ in my room, and I was so skinny, skinnier than Kyle even, and so I was always freezing, and I just knew I was going to get pneumonia someday. Coffee helped, it was hot, but coffee was downstairs and I was upstairs and I couldn't go get some because I had to keep packing because if I didn't finish getting everything together then—"What if, oh, God, what if there's terrorists on our plane and th – they set off a bomb? Or, Jesus, what if – what if we run out of fuel and we _crash?_ " The whole idea of flying to New York suddenly seemed like a really, _really_ bad idea. Why had it taken me so long to see how dangerous it was? "We'll – we'll all _die_ and never even—"

"Tweeker." Iheard Craig slide off my bed, and then he was kneeling in front of me. "You're not going to die," he said, putting his hands on my shoulders, and looking right into my eyes. I couldn't do anything but look back at him. His eyes were blue, but not bright blue like Kenny's. Craig's were more of a blue-gray, and I liked that better than them just being plain blue. I'd never seen anybody else with eyes like his, but Craig wasn't like anybody else. Craig was special, he always made me feel…safe, the way that before him, I only felt when I had my coffee. But still, right now, I was having trouble feeling that way. I couldn't feel safe, not with the thoughts of a life without Craig, _forever_ , swirling around in my brain. He seemed so _sure_ that everything would be okay, but nobody could see the future…

"How do you _know_?" I blinked at him and reached up to pull on my hair, but he caught my hand in midair.

"You're going to end up bald if you keep doing that," he said, with a smile. "And just trust me, Tweeker. As long as I'm here, you will be too."

"But—"

"Trust me?" he said quietly, his smile disappearing as he said the words.

Oh, Christ, _pressure_! If I told him I didn't trust him then I wouldn't make him feel very good, and I didn't want to do that, I liked when I could make Craig happy because it seemed like not very much in the world ever made him happy, but if I told him I _did_ trust him, I wouldn't be telling the whole truth because, even though I would trust Craig with my life, my coffee, _anything_ , he couldn't guarantee that I wasn't going to die before him. The world wasn't a safe place, bad things happened, Kenny died all the time, nothing was stopping the world from deciding that it was time to kill _me_. I didn't want to tell him I didn't trust him, but I couldn't lie to him, I couldn't tell him I completely trusted him when I didn't; lies always came back to haunt you, and lies were like secrets, when a person lied they kept the truth a secret, and I couldn't do that, I couldn't keep secrets, I couldn't lie, it was all just too much— I shut my eyes and whimpered. Almost immediately, I felt Craig's arms around me and he was whispering, "It's okay, Tweeker, it's okay. I understand."

I tried to breathe without hyperventilating, and clung to him. He was the only person in the world who could say that to me and really mean it. He _did_ understand me, he'd proven that more than once, and that was one of the things I loved the most about him.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled into his shoulder as a tiny spasm went through me. "I – ghh – trust you, I just, just not…" I didn't know how to finish the sentence.

"It's okay," he said again. "Really, Tweeker."

I could hear his smile, but I knew he wasn't laughing at me. He didn't laugh at me or make fun of me when I got scared, ever, and he would get so angry at anyone who did. Even Christophe had learned by now to not say anything, or if he was going to say anything bad, to at least speak French. But Cartman still had a thing or two to say, sometimes, and I worried sometimes that Craig would kill him one day. He'd be like MacBeth then, we'd read MacBeth in English class. I didn't want that, I didn't want Craig to have blood on his hands because of me—anyone's blood, even Cartman's—and end up going crazy from it. Jesus, if Craig went crazy because of me then he'd get taken away and locked in a mental hospital and I would never be able to see him again, and knowing he was there and that they just weren't letting me see him would be worse than if he was dead; at least then he wouldn't be alive and alone and crazy.

"Do you want me to stay here again tonight?" Craig asked.

I nodded, but then lifted my head so quickly I felt dizzy. "No!" I turned to stare at my piles of clothing and the two suitcases on my floor, and then faced Craig again. "Christ, Craig, you still need to get your stuff! I have to – Jesus!" I tried to jump up, I had to hurry, we didn't have much time, but Craig wouldn't let go of me.

"Calm down," he said firmly, and I was afraid I'd made him mad, but when I looked at him he was still smiling. "I'll help you get the rest of your stuff together, and then we can go back to my house and get mine, and stay there tonight. I'll text Stan right now and see if he can give us a ride to the airport. Okay?"

"O – okay." My voice cracked, but I managed to smile back at him. He stood up, pulling me with him, and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket to type a text message to Stan. Then he lifted one of my suitcases onto my bed.

"These are huge," he said, as he took a pile of my clothes and put them in the corner of the suitcase. "You're only going to need one."

"But I promised my parents I'd – egh! – bring them back something!" I said, not wanting to think of how disappointed—not angry, my parents didn't get angry, they got disappointed and spoke in twisted metaphors that were worse than any other type of punishment in the world— they would be if I was out of South Park for a whole month and didn't even bring them back a coffee mug or _anything_.

"Tweeker, you and I could both fit in one of these things and there would still be enough room left for all the stuff you actually _need_ to bring," he said, laughing a little.

I looked at the suitcase. Was it really that big? Could it really fit both of us in it? I tensed as I thought about that. Oh, God, Craig wasn't going to try to do it, was he? I really didn't like small spaces, and a suitcase was about the smallest space I could even have a hope of fitting into, but that didn't mean I wanted to actually be _in_ one! And if I was in the suitcase, then I'd have to be in the part of the plane where they kept all the luggage, and away from everyone else, and there wouldn't be enough air because I'd be trapped in a suitcase, and there wasn't any way I could get the zipper undone from the inside, so I would suffocate… But – But Craig wouldn't do anything like that, he wouldn't do anything that would hurt me, so he probably wasn't going to lock me in a suitcase.

"There."

"Ghh!" I jumped as Craig flipped the top of suitcase shut and started doing up the zipper. What was he doing? The suitcase had been practically empty! I reached out to stop him, but he already had it zipped all the way closed. "What are you doing?!"

"You don't need any more than what's in there, I promise," he said, lifting up the suitcase like it weighed nothing. It probably didn't, it had next to nothing in it! "If there's anything else you need, I'll just buy it for you anyway."

My eye twitched. He had that, _"There's-no-room-for-arguments,"_ tone, and when he had his mind made up about something, there really was no room for arguments. I just hated it when he spent a lot of money on me, it always made me feel so bad. I had a job too, I worked with him, I made just as much money as he did, and it wasn't enough to make us millionaires or anything. He couldn't afford to spend half of what he spent on me, but he did anyway. I promised myself right then that as soon as we got to New York I was going to buy Craig something amazing, because he deserved it, more than I deserved any of the things he did for me.

"Now come on," he said, gesturing towards my door. "I'll make you some coffee for on the way."

… … …

Craig's house was about fifteen minutes away from mine. It was faster if someone was driving, but Craig didn't have his license yet and I couldn't handle the pressure of being in charge of a whole vehicle by myself, so I hadn't even gone for a learners' permit. The only people in our group who could drive were Stan, Kyle, and Christophe, and the only ones I trusted to get in a vehicle with were Stan and Kyle. Christophe didn't seem to care whether he got in an accident or not, but I did. At least Stan and Kyle wore seatbelts. I preferred being in a car with Kyle, though, because he watched the road more than Stan did. Not that Stan was a bad driver or anything, he was just always really concerned about the music that was playing, and I was afraid sometimes that he was going to be in the middle of changing the radio station and accidentally stop on some train tracks and get himself and everyone in the vehicle with him at the time hit by a train. And then the train would derail and kill everyone on board, except for two little kids, and then they'd be orphans and they would probably die because they had no one to take care of them, just because the radio had decided to play Matchbox 20 instead of Three Days Grace.

I'd just finished drinking the coffee in my thermos when we started walking up Craig's driveway. He was still carrying my suitcase for me. It wasn't the kind that had wheels, so he couldn't just drag it along behind him, but he didn't seem to mind carrying it. I would have, I'd told him I could carry my own suitcase, but he'd just shrugged at me and said he was fine. He did things like all the time, though, like carrying my stuff, always making me coffee and a lot of the time, like last night, I was _sure_ he went without sleep just in case I woke up in the middle of the night and needed him. That happened some nights; I had nightmares every once in a while about the end of the world and I'd wake up, positive that that time it hadn't been a dream, it had been real, the world was ending and there was nothing I could do about it. They were horrible dreams, and always the same. I was always in a crowd of strangers, and they were all gathered together like something amazing was about to happen , and there was a countdown, like a New Year's Eve countdown, but it wasn't counting down until the New Year, it was counting down until the world ended. I'd be trying to get through the crowd, trying to find Craig, or just somebody, _anybody_ that I knew, but there was never anyone I recognized, and even though I always woke up before the countdown got to zero, and I didn't actually ever see the world ending, just the feeling of waiting, helpless, was something I couldn't deal with. I'd wake up, sometimes I couldn't help crying, other times I couldn't do anything but shake, and Craig would be awake. I never asked him why he wasn't sleeping, I was just so grateful that he was still awake, and there. I'd had one of those nightmares last night, and I don't know what I would have done if Craig hadn't been there.

His parents were at work when we got to his house, but his sister was home. She was watching TV when we got inside, but she and Craig didn't even acknowledge each other. I'd used to think that was really weird, but that was just how Craig's family was. It was every person for himself (or herself, since half of Craig's family was female), unless one of them was angry—if that happened, everyone in the house knew about it. I'd been over a few times when his parents had been home and fighting, and even when I was down in Craig's room, in the basement, I could hear everything they were saying. Craig had just told me to ignore them, but it was hard to ignore something that was that loud and angry. Then his mom had come downstairs and screamed at him for leaving a Coke can beside the sink, and he'd started yelling back and I'd felt so out of place, like I shouldn't even be there, but I hadn't wanted to move in case she saw me and shot lasers out of her eyes and vaporized me. I was pretty sure it was possible; she'd been angry enough to develop powers like that. We'd stopped going to Craig's house as often, after that; we'd go to my house. My parents didn't mind that he stayed over all the time and it made me feel better knowing he was at my house and safe from his crazy angry laser-eyed parents. There was never any fighting at my house; my parents hardly ever even disagreed with each other. And they liked Craig; my mom said he was good for me. They'd offered him a job at Harbucks last year when he was talking to me about needing money for this trip, and they let us work together all the time. They were really great, for parents, if I could get past all the metaphors.

Craig's room was a mess, but that was normal, even though I couldn't understand how he managed to get it so messy when he was hardly ever here. He had clothes everywhere, even hanging over the top of the door, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know how or why it had gotten there. He had a small black suitcase, smaller than mine, sitting on his bed. I watched him scoop up a pile of clothes off the floor and dump them in the suitcase, not bothering to fold them.

"Are those even clean?" I twitched, lifting my thermos before remembering that all the coffee in it was gone.

Craig shrugged, tossing another pile of clothes on top of the first. "Who knows? I'll get the hotel to wash them when we get there." He zipped his suitcase shut, and set it on the floor. How could he survive on such a small amount of stuff? What if all it did in New York was rain? He didn't have an umbrella! I hiccupped, remembering that _I_ didn't have an umbrella either; Craig had taken it out of my suitcase.

"You need an umbrella!" I said before I could stop myself. "If you don't bring an umbrella it's just going to rain the whole time and we'll have to stay inside and we won't be able to do _anything_ and Kyle'll hate us because his present won't be as amazing as it was supposed to be!"

"First of all, if Kyle hated us because it rained, he'd be retarded," Craig said. There was a loud beep, and I jumped, but it was just Craig getting a text message. He ignored it. "Second, if we needed an umbrella that bad, we could just go buy one. They're like, five dollars." With a smile, he added, "And it's just rain, Tweeker. We could still go out in the rain."

"But what if we were in the rain and got sick?! We could get bronchitis, or – pneumonia, people have _died_ from pneumonia!" I held on to my thermos so tightly I could see my knuckles turning white, and tried to breathe. I felt like I was going to hyperventilate, and I think Craig noticed, because he instantly came over to where I was standing, in the middle of his room, and ran one of his hands through my hair, resting it on my shoulder.

"Remember what I said before?" he said quietly.

"Nghh!" was all I could say.

"As long as I'm alive, you'll be alive too," he said, again, and I could see in his eyes that he really, _really_ meant it. "Nothing can hurt you with me here. And I'm never going anywhere."

"Promise?" I asked softly, shivering a little.

"I promise, Tweeker," he said. "Now come on, let's go get you some more coffee." He wrapped one of his arms around my shoulders and led me towards the basement stairs, using his free hand to check his text message. "Stan's going to come get us tomorrow morning."


	11. Get Out Alive: Christophe

I had arrived at the airport early—eight AM, and it was now nearing ten—in case the man in the picture Gregory had e-mailed decided to change his flight at the last minute. Gregory had said the thief knew he was being watched, and in my years as a mercenary, I had learned that most criminals would alter their escape plans at the last minute, to try to avoid capture. The mistake they made was assuming that the police were the ones following them, when in fact, it was most often me. On the rare occasion a criminal was aware that it was not the law that was on his trail, but the Mole, he would not even consider the possibility that the Mole was an eighteen-year-old boy. By the time he realized that fact, it was too late. My true identity was kept a heavily guarded secret; the only civilians—for lack of a better term—to know who I truly was were the nine I associated with in South Park: McCormick, Marsh, Tucker, Tweak, Cartman, the Stotch boy, Black, Donovan, and Kyle.

Kyle. I thought of the redhead as I sat, on one of the uncomfortable metal benches in the departures area. I was holding an open book, my head lowered so I appeared to be reading, but my eyes were constantly scanning the people in line, keeping a close watch on any tall, skinny, dark-haired man with glasses, and any tall, skinny, dark-haired man without glasses, just in case. Every so often I turned a page to appear inconspicuous, to give the impression that I was simply another person waiting for a flight.

If someone was ever to ask me why it was that I was so attracted to the Jewish boy, I would not be able to provide a clear answer. It was more than just physical attraction, though that was indeed present; I was drawn to Kyle for other reasons as well. He was highly intelligent, more so than most of the other residents of South Park, and he never passed up an opportunity to defend his moral beliefs. This led to many conflicts with Cartman, but Kyle would never back down from a fight, even though the fat boy was more than twice his size. I admired that, the spirit in him. I'd seen it all those years ago, during the war with the Canadians—it was, in fact, the reason I had agreed to help them with their cause. Not that I had been able to recognize at the time just why the redhead's fiery nature compelled me to associate with him; I was only nine years old, after all. I knew nothing of love. I was not even sure _now_ that what I felt for him, had felt since middle school, was anything close to that elusive emotion. Kenny had called it a _crush_ , but I did not like that word—it was simple, childish, and what I felt was something a child could never comprehend. I did not claim to love Kyle Broflovski, no; however, I could not deny the fact that I felt a strange, almost disconcerting in its strength, connection with him. I thought again of Cartman and Butters, of Craig and Tweek. I wanted to be able to call the redhead mine. And if what Kenny had said was true, that Kyle and Stan were not together...

I saw no reason for Kenny to lie to me—other than to amuse himself, but even I had to admit that he did not seem like the type to thrive on others' misery. That was more Cartman's style. If Kyle and Stan were indeed not a couple, then that had to mean that Kyle had turned down Stan's advances after I had left the hallway Saturday night. The fingers of my right hand twitched as I turned a page in the book I was holding; I wanted one of my cigarettes, but there was no smoking in the airport. Normally I would simply ignore the signs and smoke two cigarettes at once, in defiance of the airport's inane rules, but I could not afford to be kicked out, not when I had a job to do.

Kyle and Stan were closer than anybody else I had ever encountered. In all the years I had known the two of them, they had never been apart from each other, for any reason, for longer than a week. It had only seemed natural for each one of them to eventually fall for the other. That was why I'd refrained from acting on my feelings for three and a half years. I told myself it was because I could not afford to have the distraction of a lover, with the career I had, and that I would only be a danger to Kyle. I told myself that enemies would view Kyle as my weakness, and they would do anything to exploit that weakness. I told myself that it was possible that they would kidnap, and even kill, Kyle, to get to me. While that was all true, I refused to acknowledge, even to myself, the real reason I did nothing: I was not confident that the Jewish boy would reciprocate my feelings. I convinced myself that it was for Kyle's safety that I remained silent, but in truth it was because I, like everyone, assumed that sooner or later, Kyle and Stan would emerge as a couple, closer than ever. But, while it appeared that Stan had followed the unwritten, unspoken rule, Kyle had not.

"Excuse me?"

I glanced up as a voice interrupted my thoughts. An older, bleached-blonde woman of perhaps thirty—though it was evident she was one of the common type of American females who wished to defy age and all its side effects—was looking down at me. There were two large red suitcases on wheels sitting at her feet, and she was holding a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, and two juice boxes in the other. Two small children, boys who looked to be no older than five, were chasing each other in circles about four feet away, shrieking like banshees. Somehow, I hadn't heard the high-pitched noises coming from their mouths, which disturbed me, much like when Kenny had been able to sneak up on me at Kyle's party. That was twice now, in three days, that I had been so lost in thought that I had stopped paying attention to the world around me. I ignored the woman, leaning forward and searching the lines of people waiting to check in for the jewel thief, hoping he had not escaped my notice. I did not relish the thought of having to explain to Gregory why I had failed in my mission.

"Ex- _cuse_ me." I returned my gaze to the blonde woman. Her tone was one of impatience; it had lost all traces of politeness. I kept my expression blank as she said, "Would I be able to sit here, please." It was a statement, not a question.

I surveyed the rest of the airport. The metal benches could seat three people, and most of the others were completely full; the ones that had space only had room enough for one person. I understood the woman's logic, coming to ask me if she and her children could occupy my bench, seeing as how I was the only one on it, but I had no intention of moving. I looked up at her, and with a shrug, said, " _Je suis désolé, mais je ne parle pas anglais, Madame._ "

She rolled her eyes and pointed to the bench. Speaking louder—I would never understand why, when encountering someone who does not speak the language (or, in my case, claims to not speak a language they know perfectly well), Americans insist upon raising their voices—she said, "Here. I want to sit here."

I continued to simply stare at her, feigning confusion. Finally, she snapped, "Fucking French people," to no one in particular, and left, barking at her children to pull the suitcases that probably weighed more than they did.

"Beetch," I muttered, closing the book I held and glancing at my watch. Ten-thirty. I had not seen the dark-haired man yet, so assuming that he had not gotten by me while I had been distracted by my own mind, he was still going to be taking the one PM flight. If I was honest with myself, I would have to admit that I had been hoping he would attempt to leave earlier; having him on the same flight as me—as Kyle—was not an ideal scenario. I was still not entirely sure as to the level of danger he possessed, but I knew it was more than that of an average, everyday criminal. " _No more dangerous than you_ ," had been Gregory's words. Even just being half as dangerous as me would make him a formidable enemy. I did not want Kyle to be caught in the middle of anything. Perhaps I could locate and take out my target before he even managed to set foot on the plane... I scanned the crowds again, but still, there was no sign of the man I was looking for. I did, however, see the first few members of the group I was a part of come through the airport's revolving door. I was hesitant to call them my friends; I believed us to simply have a mutual tolerance of each other. With the exception, of course, of the only redheaded Jewish boy among us. Him, I was more than tolerant of.

Kenny was the first one through the door, a large, blindingly bright orange duffel bag slung over one shoulder. He was grinning as he looked over his shoulder, speaking animatedly to the person behind him, waving his arms in the air. Craig was next, carrying a suitcase in one hand while pulling Tweek along behind him with the other, and shielding the blond—who was clutching the handle of a large black suitcase—from Kenny's waving limbs. Following the couple was Stan, carrying a red suitcase not unlike those which the blonde bitch-woman had had. My eyes moved past him, but I saw no sign of Kyle.

Unlike the other three, who were obviously unable to control their excitement, Stan appeared to be extremely upset, only smiling when one of the others said something to him. But even from across the terminal, I could see the smile not reach his eyes; the Marsh boy was miserable, and that was all the proof I needed to know that Kenny had indeed been speaking the truth when he told me that Stan and Kyle were not dating.

I smirked, replacing my book in my black duffel bag. I wondered if he had cried.

"'Tophe!" Kenny yelled, catching sight of me. He bounded across the terminal, just barely avoiding knocking every single person he passed onto the floor. Skidding to a stop in front of me he dropped his bag on the floor and sat down on top of it. "Fucking New _York_!" he announced, loudly.

" _Oui_ ," I said, raising one eyebrow at him.

He rolled his eyes at me. "Oh, right, like _you're_ not fucking _excited_ ," he said, brushing some blond hair out of his eyes, only to have it fall right back in the same place. "Goddammit," he muttered.

"I 'ave been to New York before, McCormick," I said.

"Not with Kyle," Kenny said, giving me a smirk of his own as Craig, Tweek, and Stan reached us. He hopped up and started singing some nonsense song, dancing around the three of them like _he_ was the one who consumed unnatural amounts of caffeine on an hourly basis.

That was true. I could not deny that I was looking forward to spending a month in New York with Kyle. I had already been formulating a plan to get the redhead alone at some point while we were there. I had made a vow to myself, last night, that I would not leave New York without telling Kyle of my feelings. Stan Marsh was no longer in my way. Though there was still the possibility of enemies using Kyle to get to me, they would have to discover who the Mole's civilian identity was first. And I did not plan on _ever_ letting that happen. Kyle, should he desire to be with me, would be in no danger. I would die before I let any harm come to him. That, I could promise.

Craig and Tweek both greeted me in some way—Craig with a nod, Tweek with a spasm I could only assume was meant to be a wave—and then went in search of coffee, but Stan barely even glanced at me. I found that interesting; it was almost as if he knew about my attraction to the one person he had likely come to think of, over the years, as his. That was impossible, of course; the only one who knew for certain of my feelings was...

Kenny paused in his inane, rhythm-less dance, and I managed to make eye contact with him. I gestured subtly in Stan's direction—he was facing away from me, watching the revolving door—and blinked, silently demanding to know if Kenny had said anything to Stan. My fingers twitched, but it was not cigarettes they wished to hold this time, but my shovel. The weapon was currently back in my apartment, and I found myself regretting not bringing it along, though I knew it would likely not be permitted on board the plane with me; I would need it as a carry-on item, and if airline staff refused to allow pocketknives, they definitely would be opposed to a sharp, rusted shovel.

I had to give Kenny a shred of credit; the blond communicated well without words. With a quick glance at Stan, he looked back at me and shook his head, mouthing the words, " _I didn't tell him anything."_

A dark-haired male passed behind Kenny, and I straightened, trying to get a glimpse of his face, but he was gone, blending into a crowd of obvious tourists. Sheet. Every instinct I had was telling me to follow him, to see if he was the man I was after, but none of the others knew of my mission and I was not in the mood to deal with questions about my sudden disappearance; for some unknown reason, I simply did not have the energy. Perhaps, I thought to myself, some of my reluctance to leave my seat was due to not wanting to miss Kyle's arrival? It was possible, though I detested the idea that I was behaving like a teenage girl. I thought of the picture, and of the man I had just seen. No, he had not been tall enough. It was easy to disguise oneself as taller than one actually was; decreasing one's height was impossible. It had not been the jewel thief. I relaxed slightly, lifting my duffel bag into my lap and pulling out a pack of Nicorette gum. If I could not smoke, at the very least I could get the nicotine into my system some other way.

"You know, if you don't quit that, you're going to have to hear a million fucking lectures about smoking in Hell," Kenny said, dropping down onto the seat beside me.

"As long as it is 'ell I go to, I don't much care what ze fuck I 'ave to 'ear down zere." I popped two pieces of gum in my mouth and began chewing, shoving the rest of the gum in the pocket of my cargo pants. "Nozing could be worse zen spending an eternity wiz _'im_ ," I spat.

"He's really not that bad," the blond said offhandedly, with a shrug. "The Mormons are pretty fucking lame, and Hell's got better food, but God's actually kind of cool."

I snorted, and chose not to answer; pulling out my book again, I resumed my faux-reading, again being sure to keep my eye on the departures lineup.

... ... ...

"If Jewboy's late, I'm going to fucking kill him!"

Cartman was pacing the length of the bench, where Token had joined Kenny and me upon his arrival over an hour and a half ago. Craig and Tweek were sitting on the floor at our feet, a sullen Stan was leaning against a nearby pillar with his hands in his pockets, and Butters stood a few feet away from Cartman, watching him with wide, frightened eyes. I glared at Cartman, my hands forming fists at my sides, but he was oblivious, as brainless and belligerent as ever.

"It's probably Clyde's fault," Token said, glancing at his watch and rolling his eyes. "I'll bet you anything he slept in."

"Well, if _he_ makes us miss this flight then I'm going to fucking kill _him_!" Cartman bellowed.

Tweek jumped, letting out a tiny squeak, and Craig wrapped his arm around him, pulling him closer while glaring at the fat boy and flipping him off. I saw Butters take a tentative step towards his boyfriend, and then freeze, looking around at the rest of us nervously before reaching out to touch Cartman's shoulder. Cartman turned on him, but upon realizing who it was that had touched him, appeared to calm down and he settled for crossing his arms and muttering obscenities. I'd seen similar situations before, but each time I found it just as interesting as the first that of all people, it was Butters Stotch who had the ability to calm Eric Cartman.

I glanced at my own watch. It was already a quarter after twelve. Token had informed us that Kyle would be picking up Clyde on his way to the airport, but our flight was departing in less than an hour, and there was still no sign of them. I had not seen the dark-haired man, either, however; I supposed that was a good thing. Still, it was taking every ounce of my willpower to remain outwardly indifferent to everything going on around me.

"They're here," Stan said, speaking for the first time. I followed his gaze to the door, where Kyle was just entering the airport, followed by an exhausted looking Clyde. Both were pushing wheeled suitcases across the floor. I saw the garnet ring, shining on Kyle's finger, and smiled to myself. Perhaps that could be considered a sign of some sort, if I believed in such things.

"About goddamn time!" Cartman yelled.

"Shut up, Fatass," Kyle said, rolling his eyes as he and Clyde joined us. I noticed, not without some satisfaction, that Kyle stood on the opposite of the group from Stan. Both of them avoided each others' eyes.

The brunet yawned; he looked ready to fall asleep standing up. "S'my fault," he mumbled, his words running together. "Slept late."

"Told you," Token said with a grin. "What were you doing that kept you up so late last night, Clyde?"

Clyde muttered an answer, but I had stopped listening. Behind Butters, I saw the man from the picture, the thief, join the line to check in for the flight to New York. Dark hair, pale skin, about six feet tall, skinny. He turned, slightly, and I saw thick-rimmed, black glasses. It was him. I stood, wishing again that I had my shovel with me so I could end this quickly, and lifted my bag.

"You 'ave ze tickets?" I said to Kyle, ignoring the not-so-subtle glare Stan shot in my direction for speaking to the redhead.

He nodded, producing them from the pocket of his green hoodie and handing one to each of us. I nodded in the direction of the lineup. "I zink we should get in ze line, _oui_?"

"Yeah," Kenny said eagerly, grabbing his bag and standing up. "Come on, guys, we have like half a _fucking_ hour before we leave!"

"I'd better get a goddamn window seat," Cartman said, residual anger still present in his tone. He took Butters' hand, and together they followed Kenny. Stan trailed after them without a word.

"Is he okay?" Clyde asked Kyle sleepily, watching the Marsh boy walk, his head down. Kyle sighed.

"I don't know," he said, sounding tired. "I haven't talked to him today."

"I hope he isn't still sick," Token said, as he, Clyde, and the redhead began walking across the terminal. I began walking quickly; I wanted to stay close to the thief. As I passed the three of them, I heard Token add, "Seriously, being sick on a plane sucks _so_ hard."

While that was true, I thought to myself as I reached into my pocket, there was nothing as awful as being stuck in a small space for hours without a cigarette.

... ... ...

Seated between an overactive Kenny and a morose Stan who kept shooting me (completely nonthreatening) glares every time I moved, I amended my earlier thought. There _were_ worse things than being stuck on a plane without cigarettes, and I was living them.

Originally, I had been seated in the middle aisle, in the middle seat in a row of three, between Craig and Tweek, but they had traded seats with Kenny and Stan so they could sit together in one of the two aisles with only two seats. Cartman and Butters had the opposite two seats in the other aisle—Cartman taking the window, of course—and in the three seats in front of me were Clyde, Token, and Kyle. Clyde had his head resting on Token's shoulder, and he was snoring softly. We were near the very back of the plane, and I'd seen the dark-haired man take a seat near the front. From the moment I had sat down, I'd been searching my brain for a way to take him down, but every plan I came up with involved getting him alone, and there had been no opportunity as of yet. I was running out of time. Our flight was only supposed to take six and a half hours, and nearly six hours had already passed. I had barely one hour to come up with something, but it was nearly impossible to think straight when Kenny kept bursting into song beside me.

Just when I was about to turn and threaten Kenny's life—though, in the past that had proven ineffective—I saw the thief rise from his seat and make his way down the aisle, past me, disappearing through the curtain behind us where the plane washrooms were located.

"Move," I muttered to Kenny, interrupting him in the middle of a song. I undid my seat belt and half-stood, waiting for him to do as I requested.

"Cheer up, 'Tophe." Kenny grinned, lifting up his legs and scrunching in his seat so I could get by. As I moved through the curtain and leaned against the wall beside the door to the washroom, I heard the blond cheerfully sing, "New York, New York, I want to wake up in the city that never sleeps!"

The door clicked open suddenly, almost catching me off guard; the key word being _almost_. I narrowed my eyes and blocked the dark-haired man's way. He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

"I do ze talking, you understand?" I growled, advancing upon him menacingly. "Ze jewels. Where are zey?"

The man's eyes widened; I saw recognition in them, and fear. "The Mole," he said, his voice trembling. I smiled, coldly.

"You've 'eard of me."

"You're – you're just a - a _child_ ," he stuttered.

"I assure you," I said, stopping mere inches away from him. "I am much, much more zen a child. Now. Zere is ze matter of ze jewels you are carrying."

I should have seen it coming. Perhaps I was still too unfocused, still with too many thoughts of Kyle in my mind. In any case, somehow he managed to push me to the side, nearly knocking me to the floor, and get past me. He darted out from behind the curtain, into the main area of the plane.

"Sheet!" I swore, regaining my balance. I thought of Kyle. " _Sheet_!" I sprinted after him, coming through that curtain just in time to see him disappear through the other curtain, at the front of the plane leading to first class, and the cockpit, where the pilot was. I felt every passenger's eyes on me as I thundered down the aisle, but I ignored them all, ignored Kenny shouting after me, not glancing at any of them—not even Kyle—as I passed. Flight attendants tried to stop me, but I shoved past them, bursting into first class and freezing on the spot.

"Where?" I demanded of the first class passengers. They all looked terrified, and on some level I could not blame them, but I had no time to think on that level. I needed to finish the job I had been sent to do. "Where did 'e go? Answer me!"

One passenger, an elderly woman, raised a shaking hand and pointed ahead of her. My eyes ticked forward. The cockpit. Of course. It was never simple. I moved to the door, noticing that it was slightly ajar already. I paused. This could mean one of two things. One, that the man I was after had broken his way into the cockpit without the pilot noticing, or two—the most probable of the choices—that he and the pilot were in this together. I had to proceed carefully. I took a breath, collecting my thoughts, and moved to the other side of the door, so I would be behind it when it opened. I counted to three in my head, and then pulled the door open.

As I had anticipated, the dark-haired man jumped out, but when I was not where he had assumed I would be, he hesitated, confused. I let the door fall shut and leapt at him, catching him in one of the moves that had saved my life on more than one occasion: a sleeper hold. Within seconds, he was unconscious. I left him lying on the floor, and opened the door once again, this time silently entering the cockpit.

"Yeah, I sent Josh to take care of him," I heard the pilot say; he must have been communicating with someone over a radio. He had his back to me, and I noticed that he too had dark hair.

"Still, you know, they could have warned us that it was the fucking _Mole_ we were supposed to look for." The pilot's voice was whiny, like that of a teenager reluctant to clean his room. I snorted, slamming the door behind me. The pilot jumped, startled, and looked over his shoulder at me. When his gaze met mine, both his eyes and mine widened.

He was identical to the man I had rendered unconscious. _Twins_.

"Sheet." Would it have been too much for Gregory to do his research and tell me that I was dealing with _twins_? Did it really more effort than he was willing to expend? As soon as I got to a telephone I was going to give the British boy a piece of my mind, and as soon as I got back to South Park to pick up my shovel, I was getting on the first available flight to England. But first I had to deal with the situation at hand.

"You'd be the Mole, then." The pilot looked me up and down, and smirked at me.

" _Oui,_ " I said, my eyes darting around the small space as I tried to come up with a plan.

"Did you kill my brother?"

" _Non_.'e is incapacitated, but 'e is not dead." I could have lied, but I saw no point.

"If I fight you, I won't win," he said calmly.

His words threw me. "You will 'and over ze jewels willingly, zen?" I watched him carefully, listening intently just in case the door opened behind me. Sleeper holds were useful, but they did not cause a person to be unconscious for any considerable length of time. I anticipated that this man's brother—Josh, apparently—would awaken soon, and come to the aid of his twin.

"Oh, no," he said, glancing out through the front window of the plane. "No, that wouldn't end very well for me." He paused, and I took a step closer, ready to attack. "But _this_ will." He turned to me, suddenly, and before I even had time to think, to react, to do _anything_ I felt the sharp sting of what was unmistakeably a taser. My vision blurred, and I fell to the floor, in unimaginable pain. Another electric blast hit me, and then a third.

The last thing I saw before blacking out was the pilot leaving the cockpit.

My last thought was of Kyle.


	12. Dead On Arrival: Kenny

_"'Tophe? 'Tophe!"_

_"What the fuck's Frenchy doing?"_

_"Oh – God! What if—"_

_Whispers._

_"Did you hear that?"_

" _No."_

" _It sounded like—"_

_The sound of seatbelts, clicking open and shut._

_"Kyle, where are – ? Kyle!"_

_"Hang on!"_

_Screaming; deafening, echoing screaming, coming from everywhere at once._

_"Stan – Kenny – !"_

_"Tweeker, stay –_ stay there _, don't move – !"_

_Whistling, weightlessness, a sudden, scorching heat—_

_Then nothing._

* * *

I woke up with a killer headache. I couldn't even remember where I was, what I was doing, or even my own name, _fuck_ , thinking hurt too much. Keeping my eyes shut, I covered them with one of my arms—just to be safe, in case there was an intense amount of bright light on the other side of my eyelids—and groaned. "Jesus H. Christ, I wish I was dead."

I expected Cartman to tell me to shut my "poor-ass mouth", or Kyle to offer me some Tylenol or Advil, or Tweek to yelp something about how I probably had the plague now. I didn't expect to hear the voice I did, and it was in that moment that I realized something was really, _really_ fucking wrong.

"Wish granted, though not by the one you speak of."

I opened one of my eyes just a crack, and when there wasn't light to blind me or join forces with my headache from Hell to knock me unconscious, opened them both all the way, moving my arm from my face. Judging from the ceiling I could see above me, I was lying on a floor. I slowly turned my head to the right, and found myself face-to-leg with a pink, flowered couch. Just as slowly, I managed to raise myself into a sitting position and squint at the source of the voice: a skinny, pale boy with jet-black hair, who was lounging on the right side of the couch, two remote controls sitting beside him. One was black, and looked like a normal TV remote. The other was a bright, intense red that sucked to look at if I stared at it for too long—it felt like it was burning my eyes. I knew, without needing to look, that on my other side would be a huge, flat-screen high-def TV set. The boy on the couch was smirking at me.

"Damien?" My voice came out as a croak.

"Infidel," was the response.

Yeah, that was Damien all right. My stomach churned and I did my best to shove the pain out of my head so I could try to remember what had happened. Damien, the pink couch, and the red remote control ...they all meant one thing: I was in Satan's living room. In Hell. I had died again. But how? And when? The last thing I remembered was sitting on the plane; we'd almost made it to New York. I'd been singing, annoying the fuck out of everyone—except Clyde, who had fallen asleep on Token's shoulder the second he'd sat down—on purpose, and then...

Another lightning bolt of pain zapped my skull. " _Fuck_ ," I muttered, somehow finding the strength to scramble up onto the couch. I curled myself into a ball, facing the back of the couch and pressing my forehead against the soft fabric. I heard Damien let out an exasperated-sounding sigh—he'd never had very much patience with me; I had no idea why—and a second later I heard millisecond-long sound clips coming from the TV as he channel –surfed.

"Turn that down or fix me," I whined into the couch, my voice muffled. "Only hardcore Satanic assholes like seeing people suffer, and aren't you supposed to like, rebel against your upbringing or something?"

Another loud sigh. I was pretty sure I heard Damien mutter something evil under his breath; he was probably pissed that I was already dead and he couldn't kill me again. I knew I had a point, though, so I just waited, as patiently as I could, and a second later, my headache was completely gone. I sat up, sitting sideways on the couch so I was facing Damien, grinning at him. He ignored me, staring straight ahead at the TV. Glaring, actually, like it was the TV's fault I was here in the first place. For all I knew, maybe it was. Maybe Satan's demonic TV set had found its way up to Earth, and if that happened, it was only natural that it would find its way to _me_ of all people. I was the proverbial death-child of the world, or whatever the fuck it was called. If there was a name for what I was. Sometimes I wasn't even sure if I was human anymore.

So, yeah, maybe I'd been eaten by Satan's TV. I supposed there were worse ways to die, having lived—died, I guess—more than a few of them over the years. I yawned; not because I was tired, but because there was nothing else to do. "So how have you _been_?" I asked, deciding that if Damien was going to be all bitchy and ignore me, then I was going to play the How-Long-Until-He-Tries-To-Punch-Me-In-The-Face game. It was one of my favourite things to do when I was bored. I played that game with Christophe all the time, and it was pretty impressive how after this long, he still had yet to actually hit me. He had amazing self-control. Maybe they taught that skill at mercenary school.

Damien didn't have anything like self-control. It was probably a side effect of living in Hell your whole life and being able to do whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted. Plus, he had those sweet demon powers. He didn't answer me, but I saw his fingers twitch and it was only because I somehow intuitively knew to duck, that I didn't get hit by a flaming fireball—which ended up flying over me and crashing through the wall, leaving a big, fiery hole. Not that that was epic, or anything; _everything_ in Hell was fiery.

"Missed me, missed me," I singsonged. "Did you miss me, Damien? I know I haven't been here for, like, _ever_!" Before he even had a chance to say anything or send more fire shooting at me, I leaned forward and rested my chin on his shoulder, grinning up at him. "And you only come up _there_ —" I looked up at the ceiling. "—to see Pip, your little British love muffin with chocolate frosting and sprinkles, so—"

Jesus, Damien was quick. I didn't even see him lift his arm—maybe he didn't, maybe he did it with his Hell magic—but the next thing I knew I was sprawled on the other half of the couch, having just been punched in the face. I laughed. Whatever, the bruise would be gone by the time I got back home. Nothing ever lasted down here. "That's a new personal record," I told Damien, who was back to ignoring me. "Less than thirty seconds. We make a good team." I sat back up and stretched my arms out in front of me. "So. Anything good on TV?"

I finally got some sort of reaction—Damien turned his head from the TV to look at me like I was retarded. He held up the flaming-red remote control—oh, I hadn't noticed he was using _that_ one—and said, "I am not watching _television_ , infidel, I'm watching—"

"Hellevision, yeah, yeah, I get it. Sorry, jeez, I thought you were being boring and watching regular TV." I should have known Damien wouldn't be happy watching normal television, not when he had access to hidden Hell cameras all over Earth. See, the thing about Hell and TV, which I'd discovered about, oh, a few hundred deaths or so ago, was that a lot of the people who ended up in Hell—which was seriously like three-quarters of the world's population—were sick of Earth TV. How anyone could get sick of TV—reality shows, come on!—was seriously beyond my comprehension, but most Hell-bound people were pretty bitchy. So anyway, they'd all gotten together and had a big discussion with Satan, and in the end it had been decided that Satan would send a bunch of his minions up to Earth where they'd put magical Hell-enhanced cameras everywhere, and hook it up to some complicated cable system down here, and Hellevision was born. There was still regular TV for those of us who enjoyed that; that's what the black remote control was for. Hellevision was pretty fucking awesome, actually, though. There were seriously like, a zillion and twelve channels, and you could pause and rewind and record things just like TiVo—but, the only downside I saw, was that you couldn't fast forward, so you couldn't see what the future was going to be like. Which, okay, wasn't possible for regular TV either, but this was Hell for Christ's sake! You'd think we'd get _some_ extra-special feature like that.

Damien muttered something that sounded like, "Infidel." Seriously, the kid needed a new insult. Calling someone an infidel just wasn't as harsh as it used to be.

"Is there anything good on _Hellevision_ , then?" I asked, looking at the screen for the first time. It looked like a scene from ER or Grey's Anatomy or something. There were ambulances everywhere and paramedics running around and newscasters, and of course it was windy so everyone's hair was flying around and they had to yell to get the microphones to pick up their sound. Jesus, was Earth really as cliché as that? That was depressing.

Damien kind of grunted at me, which I took to mean, "Shut the fuck up, infidel, and either watch what I'm watching or go away."

I didn't feel very much like wandering around Hell right now; I was lazy, and I still was trying to figure out how the hell I'd managed to _get_ to Hell, so I leaned back on the couch and sighed. An almost-hot-but-tries-way-too-hard blonde female newscaster was shouting into her microphone as the wind whipped her hair across her face.

"…the crash occurred only hours ago, on the outskirts of Newark, New Jersey. Over sixty passengers were on board the flight to New York City; only five survivors were found, all of whom are currently in the hospital, in critical condition."

I froze, not even able to breathe.

* * *

_"'Tophe? 'Tophe!" I called after him as he practically flew past me. I stared after him, completely confused. Was he chasing that skinny guy? Maybe the guy had made some crack about French people; that kind of stuff always pissed Christophe off._

_"What the fuck's Frenchy doing?" Cartman demanded from my left._

_I shook my head, looking around at everybody else. With the exception of Clyde, who was still fast asleep, they all looked as confused as I felt. Well, except Cartman, who looked more angry than anything else."I don't know. He looked pissed though, didn't he? Maybe I should go see what's up."_

_I reached down to undo my seatbelt as Tweek yelped from my other side, "Oh – oh, God! What if—"_

" _Shh, Tweeker, it's okay," Craig said, and I glanced over to see him petting Tweek's hair. "Don't worry, everything's fine." Tweek whimpered, but seemed to relax. I smiled to myself, clicking my seatbelt open. It was hard to believe Tweek and Craig had ever had problems at all last year. I stood up, about to go after Christophe, when I heard something, like a loud clang, or bang, or something. I looked down at Token, in the seat in front of me. I whispered, trying to be quiet in case it happened again, "Did you hear that?"_

_Token looked down at Clyde who was still sleeping on his shoulder, smirking at the brunet before shaking his head at me. Shrugging, he said, "No."_

_"It sounded like—"_

_The plane tilted sharply to the right, suddenly, and I fell back down in my seat, whacking my elbow on the arm of the chair. "Ouch, fuck!" Rubbing my elbow, I opened my mouth to ask what the fuck had just happened, but I realized that the plane was still tilted. That wasn't right, the pilot should have righted the plane by now, we should be flying straight again._

_"Oh, my God!" someone, one of the other passengers, yelled from the front of the plane. "We're falling!"_

_It took a minute for his words to sink in, but when everybody else figured out that it was true, we were on a plane that was falling,_ fast _, out of the sky, there were clicking sounds as everyone undid their seat belts. People were running up and down the aisle, like there was anywhere else for them to go; a little girl started to cry; I was frozen. This wasn't happening. I was the one who died, just me. A plane crash would kill more than just me. I would come back, but nobody else would, this was going to be permanent for them. My friends were going to—_

_"Kyle, where are – ? Kyle!" I heard Stan yell, his voice filled with pure panic._

_"Hang on!" I didn't recognize that voice, but how I could tell one from the other was a mystery to me. Everyone but me, it seemed, was screaming. I heard the screams from all around me. The noise was deafening; the screams echoed in my brain._

_"Stan – Kenny – !"_

_"Kyle!" I managed to shout. I caught sight of the redhead, clinging to one of the seats up ahead. Somehow he'd gotten to the front of the plane._

_"Tweeker, stay –_ stay there _, don't move – !" I heard Craig say, his voice hard, but not angry—he was just trying not to let Tweek see his own fear about what was happening. They hadn't moved; they were still in their same seats, although Tweek was huddled on the floor now. I could see him crying as Craig crouched over him._

_I heard a sudden, loud, high-pitched whistling, and somehow I knew that meant that it was almost over. I closed my eyes and braced myself for the plane hitting the ground, but all I felt was a strange-yet-familiar sense of weightlessness, and knew that I'd died. I felt like I was flying through fire, and then…_

_Nothing but blackness._

* * *

The room spun, the blonde newscaster's words repeating themselves over and over in my brain. Five survivors… Five out of over sixty. The odds of all of the survivors being any of my friends were… But even if they beat the odds, there were only five survivors. I made six, and there had been ten of us so…

"Oh, my God." I felt sick, and I wished I could have my headache back. I would take my brain imploding over this. I would do anything to forget what I had just remembered. The plane crash… It was all so clear in my mind now, and I couldn't get rid of it no matter how hard I tried. I saw Kyle, holding on to that one seat like it would be able to save him, and I wondered if it had, if Kyle was one of the survivors, or if… What about Craig and Tweek, were they okay, or…? Oh, God, what about Butters? He'd never done anything to anyone, how could God do this do him? Why the _fuck_ had I been enough of an asshole the last few weeks so that I'd ended up _here_ instead of Heaven? I wanted to go talk to God; no, I wanted to go scream at God, I wanted to know what the fucking _fuck_ He was thinking when He killed… Who? I needed to know who, I needed—

"Damien," I said, unable to look away from TV screen yet, even though it made me feel even sicker to see the remnants of the plane, crushed and twisted on the ground. Christ…

"Yes?" Damien said, sounding distracted and bored. I wrenched my eyes away from the TV and looked at him. He glanced at me, and he must have seen something in my eyes, or something, because he actually paid attention for once in his demonic life.

"The lists," I said. I couldn't think straight. I tried to breathe, and focus my thoughts, tried to get the images of my terrified friends out of my mind. "The lists that your dad gets when people die. Are they here?"

"The Death Lists are in the kitchen on the table," Damien replied, raising one eyebrow at me. "But you won't be on them. Father has made it quite clear that those lists only record permanent deaths."

"That's what I need to know," I muttered, standing up and brushing my hair out of my eyes so quickly I accidentally yanked a big chunk of it out. I ignored the sharp pain and made my way to the kitchen. I'd been in Satan's house a lot; he liked me, even if Damien hated my guts, so whenever I died and came here, I got to stay for supper, and wander the house. I wondered what time it was down here—I'd given up trying to calculate Hell Time—and whether Satan would be home soon or not. Since I couldn't bitch at God, he was going to have to deal with me.

The kitchen was bright pink, this time. I wouldn't have noticed, considering I only had one thing on my mind at the moment, except it was bright, bright, blinding pink. It was like walking into Barbie Cave or something, fuck. Someone had to talk to Satan about his decorating skills someday. Maybe me, but not now. I needed to know who was on the lists, which were sitting, as Damien had said, in a big pile on the kitchen table. I pulled out the chair closest to the giant stack of papers, kneeled on it, and grabbed the first sheet off the top of the pile and scanned it. I'd never seen the lists before; Satan had just talked about them. They were pretty easy to figure out, though; there wasn't much to them. They were alphabetical by last name, and beside the names it said either Heaven or Hell. I ran through the last names of all my friends in my mind, and my stomach twisted as I shuffled through the papers until I found the beginning of the B's. I'd just started scanning the "Br—" last names when I remembered that Kyle wasn't the only one whose last name started with B. I went back to find Black, and almost had a heart attack when I saw six listings. With the same feeling of dread each time, I checked the first names, feeling so relieved I could cry when Token wasn't there.

Back to looking for Broflovski. I flipped back to where I'd been before, and made myself read through the list slowly. Brock… Broeckner… Brogan… Wait. F came _before_ G, right? I read through again, and then a third time, to make sure I wasn't seeing things. To make sure that Broflovski really wasn't on there. That was two… I kept going, to the C's.

Carmichael… Carrell… Cartman, Eric.

"Oh, fuck," I whispered. My hands were shaking. I slowly moved my finger from Cartman's name across the paper to find out where he'd ended up. Hell. Of course he'd come to Hell. Fuck. I'd _known_ not all of my friends were going to be okay, but with Token and Kyle _both_ being survivors, I'd gotten too much hope. I blinked; there were tears in the corners of my eyes. I'd never thought that I would cry for Cartman…

DeLorne, Christophe. Hell. Well, at least he'd gotten what he wanted. He wasn't stuck with God, which would have made him even more miserable for all eternity. Now he just had to deal with anti-smoking lectures. I'd warned him. …Oh, fucking Christ, how could I even think about making jokes right now? My friends were _fucking dead._

Donovan, Clyde. Oh, Jesus, Clyde… Clyde, who had been innocent and _sleeping_ the whole flight. …According to the list, he was in Heaven, at least. But still. That wasn't fair. That wasn't _fucking_ fair.

Marsh, Stan. _No_. "No. Fuck. No," I said out loud, barely even noticing as I started to cry. "Stan… Christ." My eyes moved across the paper. "At least you're in Heaven, dude…" I said quietly, moving on.

Stotch, Leopold. Heaven.

Tucker, Craig. Hell.

I shoved the papers away from me, scattering them across the table. Some of them fell on the floor, but whatever. What the fuck was Satan going to do, kill me? He had more Hell powers than Damien, he could wave his fucking giant red hand and the pile would be neat as a fucking pin. I slumped against the back of my chair, swinging my legs out from under me and hooking them around the bottom of the chair. My eyes were on the wall by the neon pink microwave, but I wasn't seeing anything. I couldn't process the information my eyes were trying to send my brain. I could hardly even think.

Cartman, Christophe, Clyde, Stan, Butters, and Craig. Six of them. Six of my friends were…had been… Fuck, this wasn't _fair_! They'd done nothing _wrong_! …Well, okay, Cartman had done a lot of things wrong in his lifetime, but being with Butters was actually making him be a better person. He hadn't been on his way to Mother Teresa level or anything, but he was getting there. And Christophe, well, I guess Christophe being a mercenary kind of worked against him, but he wasn't a cold-hearted _murderer_ ; he had a crush on Kyle, and cold-hearted murderers couldn't feel things like love, right…? Craig was an asshole, but most of the time he was protecting Tweek, so couldn't that be forgiven? I leaned my elbows on the table and rested my head on my hands, closing my eyes.

And then sat straight up in my chair as I realized exactly what the fuck had happened. "No," I whispered, shaking with anger and misery, but it was true.

Craig was here in Hell, but Tweek had survived.

Stan, in Heaven, held unrequited love for his best friend and still-alive Kyle, who had a reciprocated-but-never-acted-upon crush on new Hell resident Christophe DeLorne.

Butters was in Heaven, the farthest away from Cartman the universe could get him.

Token was alive, but he'd lost Clyde, his best friend.

The ones that had meant the most to each other were split up, forever.

"You…" I glared up at the ceiling with all my strength. Somewhere in the back of my mind I really did know that I couldn't blame God for any of this, that he didn't actually make the rules even though he was supposed to be the all-powerful-whatever-the-fuck. But that didn't matter right now. What mattered was how angry I was, and how much I just wanted to get the _fuck_ back on Earth to go check on Kyle and the others. I needed Satan for that, though. And since he wasn't here now… I stood up, knocking the chair over with a bang. I marched through the living room, pulling open the front door of Satan's house. With one foot out the door, I turned to Damien, who was watching me. He looked amused, and that pissed me off even more.

"When your dad gets home, tell I need to _fucking_ talk to him," I growled. I slammed the door without waiting for an answer, and went in search of Craig, Christophe, or Cartman.


	13. Gone Forever: Clyde

I had always thought that when I eventually died, I would go to Hell.

I didn't think I was that bad of a person, really, but I hung out with some people that were. Cartman, for one, had probably been _born_ in Hell, or at the very least he was related to Satan somehow. (Considering who his mom was, it could've happened.) Craig, as awesome as I thought he was to be around and do stuff with, _was_ kind of an asshole a lot of the time. And even though I never actually talked to Christophe, and mostly tried to stay out of the way of him and his cigarettes—smoking was, seriously, sick; Craig smoked too but not even close to as often as he'd used to, and anyway, Christophe had some French brand of cigarettes that were _way_ worse than the ones Craig usually had—he still hung around us all the time, and like my dad had been saying since forever, "Guilty by association is still guilty, Clyde."

I was pretty sure he hadn't been talking about dying. That conversation usually only happened when he was pissed about something, like the time he'd gone on for an hour about how even though Craig was the one who broke our kitchen window, I had been there the whole time and hadn't stopped him from throwing the baseball at it on purpose. It wasn't like I could've done anything, though; I'd really like to see my dad get in the way of Craig when he was pissed. I learned in like, elementary school to just leave him the hell alone when he got like that. I'd never seen Craig be able to control his temper around anybody but Tweek; the two of them like, never had a fight, _ever._ That stuff with Thomas hadn't been a fight; that had been Craig being a wuss—he'd _cried_ when he and Tweek had gotten back together, and Craig _never_ cried. It had scared the hell out of the rest of us, and we never talked about it now. I wondered if Craig even knew we knew. I'd known that Tweek meant a lot to him, but Jesus Christ. I'd watched him break every single personal rule he had for our blond friend. Like, he never flipped Tweek off, he never yelled at him, he'd almost quit smoking entirely because Tweek didn't like it. Craig was just so...so goddamn _perfect._ For Tweek.

Tweek was _so_ lucky he had Craig, he really was. Craig never even _tried_ to control his anger around _me_ , not even at the times when he really should, like when he hurled that stupid baseball through my kitchen window because he was pissed at Cartman for something. He hadn't even said anything after that, he'd just left my backyard, so I was the one who had to explain it to my dad, and get the stupid lecture that really should have been Craig's lecture. My dad would've given him the same speech; he was big on responsibility, and every person taking responsibility for his own actions, and a bunch of other stuff I never actually heard, because I stopped listening every time he got going. He was going to have something to say about Kenny's bloodstain when they got home from wherever they had gone, I knew he was. Token and I had done our best to wash it off, and I'd tried again after he'd left, but Jesus, blood was hard to clean. I wasn't looking forward to my parents walking in the house and seeing the living room wall.

Not that I would be around to get yelled at, I realized, feeling my stomach twist at the thought.

I wouldn't have been home anyway, since our flight to New York was the day before my parents got back, but even then they could have gotten a hold of me somehow. I'd left the hotel's phone number on the kitchen table before Kyle had picked me up, and all of us had cell phones; everyone's parents had demanded to know everyone else's number. (Except for Craig's parents. I wondered if they even knew he was going to a different state.) We hadn't planned on being unreachable for an entire month. Kyle's mom would have had a heart attack if she couldn't communicate with him at least once a day, and Butters probably had to call home every five minutes so his parents didn't ground him when he got home or something stupid like that.

But this was different. The reason I wouldn't be around to get yelled at for the blood on my living room wall wasn't because I was gone with my friends having the kinds of epic adventures that shouldn't be legally allowed in New York. It wasn't because Kenny and I had been caught impersonating celebrities at a movie premiere and now Brad Pitt and Matthew McConaughey were suing us for identity theft or something stupid like that and we were stuck in jail somewhere.

God, that would have been fun. I would so have been Brad Pitt...

But no, that hadn't happened; that wasn't why I was going to be able to avoid another lecture about responsibility and accountability and however many other 'bilities' there were.

It was because I was dead.

Dead.

Dead, dead, dead. No matter how many times I thought the word it seemed impossible.

"Dead," I said out loud, quietly. "I am dead. Me, Clyde Donovan. I died." Nope. It still sounded impossible. I couldn't be dead, not for real. I was seventeen, and seventeen year olds didn't die. Well, except for Kenny, but he was never dead for very long. I thought about how tired I had been when I'd gotten to the airport with Kyle, after staying up half the night trying to fit all my clothes, my video games, my Wii, and at the last second my PS2, into my suitcase. That was it, I told myself. I had probably just fallen asleep on the plane, and I was dreaming. I wasn't dead, just sleeping.

That made more sense to me. I'd always had dreams that made no sense, since forever ago. This wasn't even the weirdest dream I'd ever had; at least this time there weren't a million sheep wearing Craig's hat, running a cocaine ring on a pirate ship in the middle of _France_ of all places. It wasn't just a dream about French pirates, which was a disturbing enough thought on its own; I was dreaming about French pirate _sheep_. I had no idea where the hell _that_ had come from. My subconscious was fucked up, or something. But, no, this was just your average I-died-somehow-and-went-to-Heaven dream. Everyone had them, where you were just hanging out on a cloud by yourself, magically not falling through the stupid thing and crashing in a bloody heap on the ground like my Tony Hawk skater, wondering how you had gotten there and what was going to happen to you and when exactly you were going to wake up from it. It was the first time _I_ had ever had this kind of a dream, but it was so generic, I figured it was the sort of thing everybody dreamed about at least once in their life.

But still. You would think even my subconscious would get it right and send me to Hell.

"This is stupid," I said to myself, looking around. I was in the middle of absolutely nowhere, nothing but clouds—if they actually were clouds; I thought about seeing if I could eat one, because sometimes I dreamed that I was in Marshmallow Land—under me and blue sky above me. "You'd think my mind would be able to come up with something better than this." I moved forward a couple steps, watching the cloud or whatever it was under my feet nervously, trying to see if there was a hole somewhere that I had to avoid. I'd heard somewhere—from Kenny, I think—that if you died in a dream you died in real life. Yeah, that had been Kenny. He should know.

"Hello?" I called, squinting. Somewhere way the hell ahead of me I thought I saw someone, sitting. With a shrug, I started heading over in that direction. I might as well see who they were, if there was actually someone there and it wasn't a dream mirage or something, since it didn't seem like my subconscious had anything else more exciting for me to do. I actually kind of hoped that Token woke me up soon, because I was getting really, really hungry and it felt too real for it to just be dream hunger. I could tell the difference; I'd had enough random dreams about Cartman stealing all the food I had and trying to make me do stuff I didn't want to even think about anymore to get it back. Jesus, the more I thought about it, my subconscious was _really_ fucked up.

My stomach growled and I glared down at it, not wanting it to remind me about something I was already more than aware of. There was food on airplanes, right? Yeah, I was pretty sure they at least had pretzels or something. God, pretzels would be so good right now. My stomach growled again and I tried to imitate Craig's death glare before realizing that since my stomach didn't have eyes, glaring at it was pointless. Goddammit. Maybe, if God or Jesus or _someone_ in charge of this place showed up, I could—I mean, my dream self could—tell them that, you know, stomachs should really have eyes.

"Except maybe not everyone's stomach," I mumbled to myself, thinking about how angry Craig's death glare was. If his stomach had eyes, and could see Craig glaring at it if it pissed him off, it would probably explode or something. And Tweek's _head_ would probably explode if he woke up one day with eyes on _his_ stomach. I didn't really want any of my friends to explode just so I could intimidate my stomach. Maybe it wasn't actually such a good idea. Goddammit. It had sounded so epic when I first thought of it. Maybe I shouldn't trust the ideas I came up with in dreams, though; my subconscious _was_ pretty messed up...

I got so stuck in my own thoughts that I didn't even notice I'd made it to the person I'd seen sitting, and walked right by them, until I heard a shaky voice from behind me say, "Clyde...?" A shaky, _familiar_ voice. I turned around and blinked.

"Stan? Dude, you're totally in my dream!" I said, grinning and dropping down to sit across from him. "That's so epic!" I waved one of my arms around in the air. "Maybe things will actually get interesting now! Do you know what we're supposed to do here?" I figured Stan was the kind of person who would have had the stupid Heaven dream already, and everyone knew that anything your actual self knew, your dream self knew ten times better.

Stan didn't answer me. He had been staring at me as I talked, but when I asked him the question, he just looked down at his lap, where he was twisting his blue hat around in his fingers. His hair fell forward to cover up half of his face, and it was only because of the intense contrast between his hair and his skin that I actually noticed that his face was completely white. He was paler than usual, even for him; it was like, vampire-white. Oh, sweet, maybe Stan was a _vampire_ in my dream; that would so kick ass, I'd have to remember to tell him when I woke up. He'd love that. And it made sense. Obviously he'd done something evil to Heaven and made it disappear or something, and I was the epic hero who had to save it, and guarantee myself a spot in Heaven for when I actually _did_ die! That would be so awesome, but I'd have to try to convince God to let me bring some friends, so I could get Craig up here too, and Token. And Tweek.

"Dude, what did you do?" I asked, my grin getting even bigger as I wondered if I'd be able to find any weapons. I'd always wanted a big sword, or, God, a machete would be so _sweet_.

Stan's head snapped up and I blinked in surprise. Jesus, his eyes were red. Did vampires have red eyes? I shrugged. Apparently in my dream they did, but _Jesus_ , Stan's eyes were _really_ red.

"What?" he demanded. His voice was still shaky, and this time when he spoke his voice cracked.

I blinked again, and looked more closely at him. His eyes weren't just red; they were puffy too, like he'd been crying or something. But that didn't make sense. I knew Stan could be kind of emotional, but vampires didn't cry. And anyway, why would he be _crying_ if he'd just made Heaven disappear? Shouldn't he be happy and threatening me, so we could have an epic battle? Unless...

"Dude," I said excitedly as a new thought occurred to me. "Are you a _good_ vampire?" That would be even _better_ , if he was a _good_ vampire we could find the bad guy and kick his ass _together_. We would so win, too, especially if Stan had all those extra-badass vampire powers. And since it was my dream I would probably have all kinds of super-strength and stuff. It would be just like a video game, but _so_ much more epic.

Stan let go of his hat, letting it fall onto his lap, and just stared at me. "What?" he said again, eventually. He sounded really confused.

"You..." I trailed off, feeling really, really stupid. He was either a really good actor or he honestly didn't know what I was talking about, and I didn't think even my subconscious' version of my friend would be able to hide his emotions. It just wasn't something Stan was good at; _everyone_ could always tell what he was feeling. "You're not a vampire, are you?"

Slowly, Stan shook his head, still looking at me like I was insane.

"Well, that just makes this dream even lamer." I sighed, and started chewing on my thumbnail. I looked around, but Stan and I were the only two people around as far as I could tell. "Goddammit, Token, wake me up," I muttered as my stomach growled again. "Shut up," I told it.

"Clyde..."

I looked up. Stan was still staring at me, but he looked less confused and more worried now. My stomach stopped growling and starting doing somersaults. Something about the way Stan was looking at me made me really nervous. "What?" I said, with my thumb still in my mouth, looking back at him warily.

"You're not." He stopped, and I could actually see him swallow, like it took effort. Closing his eyes, he ran both of his hands through his black hair and said quietly, "You're not dreaming."

"What?" I didn't know what else to say. Of course I was dreaming, I had to be dreaming. If I wasn't dreaming, that would mean I was actually dead. And I wasn't. I looked down at myself and poked my leg. I was here, wasn't I? If I was here, I was real. I wasn't dead if I was real.

"You don't remember." Stan said it like it was fact, not a question.

"Remember what?" I blinked at him and started gnawing on my thumbnail again, but when I tasted blood I switched hands and wiped my bloody thumb on my jeans. I supposed it was a good thing Stan wasn't actually a vampire, otherwise he'd probably be going crazy at the sight of blood, and probably try to kill me.

Except, according to him, I was already dead...

"The plane," said Stan, looking more and more like he was going to throw up. "It... It crashed."

"It... What? No, that was just my—" I started to say, but stopped as I thought about it.

I'd been about to tell Stan that the plane crashing was just a dream, just _my_ dream, the one I'd been having before this one. At least, I'd thought it had just been a dream. I didn't think I had actually been woken up on the plane by Token screaming in my ear about how we were going to die. Things like that didn't _happen_. But I could still hear my best friend's terrified voice in my mind, and when I made myself think harder, I could remember waking up, and sitting up in my seat and seeing everybody running around the plane, and I remembered wondering why everything seemed slanted to the right. It didn't make sense to me, so I'd turned to Token to ask him what the hell was going on, and when I'd seen his face, I'd known something really bad was happening, because Token didn't ever look that scared; not even Craig at his angriest intimidated Token. And I could _just_ see Butters and Cartman through the crowd of people in the aisle, across from us, and Butters was crying and Cartman looked like he was about to do the same thing but was trying not to, and I'd been in the middle of turning around to look for Craig, and Tweek, when Stan had fought his way through the people, yelling for Kyle, and then... I shut my eyes, trying to think of what else had happened, but that was all I could remember.

"Where—" The word got caught in my throat and I felt like it was going to be my turn to cry. I tried again. "Where's...everyone else?"

Stan shook his head. "I don't know," he whispered. "Maybe they're okay. Maybe we're the only ones who..."

_Died_ , I finished in my mind, not wanting to say the word out loud any more than Stan. I wished that was true, that out of everyone, only the two of us hadn't made it, but I was pretty sure we both knew that wasn't very likely, even though the only people around were him and I. "But," I said, blinking back the tears that had suddenly filled my eyes. "But we were..." I couldn't get the words out. I wanted to say that we were supposed to be having an epic party, we were supposed to be in New York, just being stupid and having fun. It was going to be the first time in a year that I would be able to hang out with Craig, and Kenny and I had had so many plans, and now it looked like I was never going to see any of them again. Ever. I was in Heaven for _ever_ , for the rest of time, and there was no way Craig was going to make it up here; I would never play House of the Dead with him again. Token would have made it here, if he'd died, I was willing to bet anything; he must have managed to survive somehow. Part of me really hoped he had, but the selfish part of me was hoping that he'd appear out of nowhere, so I could at least have my best friend. Stan didn't have his best friend either, though, so I supposed that it was good that we at least had each other. But I still didn't feel like I really belonged here. I'd been so _sure_ that I'd end up in Hell with Craig when we died—which was supposed to forever from now, not _now_. Heaven just seemed wrong.

"Why am I here?" I mumbled, not even trying to stop myself from crying. "Why didn't I go to Hell?"

"I should be in Hell," Stan said bitterly, and I looked up to see tears streaming from his eyes too. "It's because of me that we were even going, that _Kyle_ was—" He made a strangled sound in his throat. "I tried to save him..." he whispered.

"Maybe you did," I said, sniffling and wiping my nose on my sleeve. "Maybe he's okay."

"We don't _know_ that." Stan's voice cracked again. "We don't know anything. We can't know anything. We're dead." He hiccupped. "Jesus Christ," he said quietly.

And, just like that, there he was.

I'd seen Jesus around a lot in South Park, since he lived there half the time, but I'd never actually talked to him. He used to have that show on TV, Jesus and Pals, but it had gotten cancelled when I'd been in third grade. It lost funding or something; that was what I'd heard, anyway. I knew that Stan, Kyle, and Cartman had hung out with him a few times, though, and Kenny had said that sometimes when he and Jesus both were in Heaven at the same time they'd play cards. I'd thought it was pretty cool that I had friends that were on a first-name-basis with Jesus Christ, but it still weirded me out when he just showed up out of absolutely nowhere and said, "Hello, Stan." And it weirded me out even more when he turned to me and said, "Clyde," like he knew me.

Except, when I thought about it, Jesus probably knew everyone.

"Is this real?" I whispered, clinging to the thought that this was actually a dream, just a really intense one.

Jesus nodded. "You must come with me, my children," he said, holding out his hands. "I will take you to Heaven."

"I thought this was Heaven," I said, looking around me.

"No," said Jesus, shaking his head. "This is where the deceased go who have not accepted their own deaths. It is only when one truly understands what has happened to them, and calls to me, that they may enter Heaven."

"Jesus?" Stan managed to say through his crying. "Jesus, is Kyle..."

"He is alive," Jesus said. "You saved his life, Stan, by sacrificing your own."

Stan looked like he wasn't sure whether to be happy that Kyle was okay or miserable that he didn't have his best friend with him here. I knew the feeling.

"Come, now," said Jesus. "There is another of your friends who accepted his death quickly, and is already in Heaven, waiting for you."

Stan and I looked at each other. "Who?" I said finally, unsure if I really wanted to know or not. We each took one of Jesus' hands, and let him help us up. He didn't answer me, but a second later we were standing somewhere else, somewhere that looked less like a cloud desert and more like a cloud Internet cafe, or something. There were tables everywhere, with computers on them, and most of them had people sitting in front of them, on cloud chairs.

"H – hey, fellas."

Butters was sitting at the computer closest to us. He looked worse than Stan, and he was still crying as he watched something on the computer screen in front of him.

"Oh my God, Butters," Stan said, collapsing onto the nearest cloud chair.

"What are the computers for?" I looked at Jesus. I couldn't watch Butters crying, knowing that he was dead and he was never, ever going to see Cartman again. I didn't understand their relationship, why Butters would want to be with an asshole like Cartman, but for whatever reason, he loved him. And now he'd lost him.

It was wrong to see Butters here. He was the most innocent kid out of all of us, if anybody deserved death the least it was him.

"We've been upgrading our systems here," said Jesus. "We've just put the finishing touches on our Heavenly version of Google Earth, which allows anyone up here to find friends and loved ones they've left behind, and see how they're doing."

I looked at Butters' computer screen, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Stan doing the same thing. The two computers beside the one Butters was using were free, and we both instantly went to them and opened the Google Earth program. In the search box I typed Token's name and hit the enter button.

It only took seconds, and then I saw my best friend, lying in a hospital bed. He wasn't alone though; Kyle was sitting on a chair beside Token's bed. I heard Stan gasp, and knew he was seeing the same thing I was. Both Kyle and Token seemed to be relatively okay, though, and I thanked God for that, even though I wasn't sure He'd had anything to do with it. It had probably been just luck. Kyle and Token were talking, and I turned up the volume on my computer to hear them.

"They said he's in a coma," Kyle was saying.

Token looked to his left. "Do they know if he's going to be okay?"

I saw Kyle shake his head. "But I got the impression that if he doesn't wake up soon..." He let the sentence go unfinished. "It's already been three days."

I found the 'zoom out' button and clicked it so that I could see who they were talking about. There were two beds in Token's hospital room, and lying in the other bed, unnaturally still—I wasn't used to _ever_ seeing him still—was Tweek.


	14. Do You Remember: Cartman

"Goddammit!" I yelled, kicking one of a million fucking rocks near me off the ledge I was standing on into the bubbling pit of lava below. Fucking _lava_ , that made the whole goddamn place way too fucking hot. If that hadn't been enough to convince me that I wasn't sitting on a plane, going to New York for Jewboy's birthday, all I had to do was look around me. I'd been wandering around here for what seemed like a million fucking hours, but it hadn't taken that long for me to figure out where _here_ was. Kenny had talked our ears off about it enough. He thought Hell was awesome. I thought he was full of crap. If it was really so great, how come he'd always come back, was my question. I'd asked him that one of the last times he'd shown up at school after getting run over the day before, and he'd had a hissyfit and tried to punch me. He was so goddamn sensitive, Jesus Christ.

I knew the plane had crashed—I didn't know _why_ it had all of a sudden fallen out of the goddamn sky, but I knew it had. I knew that I was dead, and I knew I was in Hell. What I couldn't figure out was why I hadn't seen the fucking Prince of Darkness or whatever he called himself yet. Kenny'd said that Satan always handled new 'arrivals'—that was apparently what dead people were called down here: arrivals—personally, so where in the Hell was he? I glared down at the lava. I couldn't even laugh at my own goddamn retarded pun.

I was standing on the top of some sort of rock-cliff that overlooked a giant lake of lava. Everything was either rock or lava in this place; it all looked the same to me. I was pretty much alone—I could see other people walking around and talking to each other and whatever the fuck else they did down here, but nobody was up on the cliff with me. Lucky for them; anybody who talked to me right now would probably go the way of the rock.

"God _dammit_!" I yelled again, but yelling at nothing wasn't making me feel any better. I kicked another rock off the edge of the cliff, turned, and started making my way down to where the rest of the population was walking around. I needed someone to yell at, and as I looked at all the other people in Hell, I saw that it wasn't going to be that hard to find a good target. People were _laughing_ , for Christ's sake, didn't they realize they were fucking _dead_? That they were never going to be able to get back to their old lives where they used to be, that were separated for _fucking_ everfrom the only person that ever mattered to them, because there was no way that person was ever going to come to Hell when he died because he had the nicest soul of anybody _ever_?

I shoved my way through the sea of people. "Christ," I muttered. Hell was more overpopulated than China. God, I hated crowds so fucking much. Especially crowds of people who shouldn't be so goddamn happy grinning at each other like everything was perfect and fine and this was just a fucking _vacation_.

"So," some guy was saying to the other guy beside him as I passed them. "Are you coming to my barbecue tonight?"

"Jesus, Phil. You're barbecuing _again_?" the other guy said.

"Of course; what other way to cook is there?" Phil said, and then he and the other guy started laughing. I stopped in the middle of taking another step and whirled around, my fists clenched.

"What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?" I screamed at them. They both stared at me, and I could feel other peoples' eyes on me but I didn't give a fuck; I was too pissed off to care. "You're fucking _dead_. Do you realize that? Do you understand that you can _never_ go home again? Why the fuck would you be _happy_ to be here?"

"Newbie," I heard someone whisper from behind me, and I spun around to see who it had been: an ancient-looking guy with white hair and glasses, who didn't look like he should be able to _breathe_ , let alone talk without needing to sit down because it took so much energy. He just shrugged at me when I glared at him. He was looking at me like I was some crazy fucking kindergartener that just needed a goddamn time-out or something. I opened my mouth to yell at _him_ , but he cut me off.

"Look, kid," he said quietly, sighing. I could barely hear a word he said, so I had to move closer to him, which seemed to be what he wanted me to do, since he kept looking at the other people like he didn't want them to overhear what he was telling me. "Obviously you've just gotten here, and you're not used to the whole idea of your life being over. But we've all been here for years. We have new lives down here, we've adjusted the best we can, and the last thing we need is someone like you reminding us of all the things we lost."

"Re _mind_ ing you? So what, you just for _get_?" I demanded, feeling my heart rate speed up. "Is _that_ what happens? You're down here for so long you just forget everything about when you were alive?"

"It takes time, but yes," said the old guy, nodding. "Eventually, this—" He waved his arm in the air and I figured he meant all of Hell. "—will become your new life, and you'll never have to be bothered by memories of what you left behind ever again."

I stared at him, his words not sinking in for a few seconds. When I finally understood that he was telling me that eventually I wouldn't remember _anything_ about my life on Earth, all of my rage drained out of me and I just felt sick. I didn't want to lose my _memories_. I could go without remembering Jewboy at all—that wouldn't be much of a loss—and there were a couple of things from middle school that I wouldn't mind forgetting. But _everything_? Everything from the past year and a half?

"Butters..." I said slowly, shakily, remembering the conversation we'd had the night before we'd left. The night before I'd died. I felt a chill creep up my spine; we'd been talking about death. I'd made some goddamn fucking _joke_ about the plane crashing. Jesus Christ, what if Butters thought I'd cursed us because of that? What if he blamed me? Fuck, maybe I _should_ be glad I was going to forget everything. I remembered how I'd always used to think that hanging out with Satan when I died would be so great. Well, if Butters blamed me for the plane crash, maybe it would be great. Maybe—Jesus _Christ_. I froze, realizing that I couldn't be the only one on the plane who had died. That fucking plane had been falling way too fast for there to be survivors, hadn't it? Which meant...

"Butters," I said again. "Fuck. _Butters_." I really _wasn't_ going to ever see him again. Somewhere in the back of my mind I'd been trying to convince myself there was some way I'd be able to get back up to _my_ world again, but if Butters was... If he was gone too, there wouldn't be any point. I'd just be alone either way anyway, without the only person who had ever made me feel worth anything. How could I be okay with forgetting him? I shook my head and backed up a step. I could hardly think straight.

"It gets easier, kid," I heard the old guy say. "Once you forget. It gets easier."

He sounded so fucking sure of himself, and he made it sound so goddamn easy, like he thought I was just some stupid teenager with lame problems. That was all it took for all of my anger to come rushing back.

"Maybe it was easy for _you_!" I yelled furiously. "Maybe you had nothing worth _living for_ when you died, but I _did_! Look at you; you're so fucking old you probably died in your sleep after everyone else you knew had already kicked the bucket! But I'm fucking _seventeen years old_ , not a hundred and fucking eighty! Do you know how I died? I was in a fucking _plane_ crash! I died before I got a fucking chance to _do_ anything! You can't tell me it'll get _easier_ for me! All of you!" I turned back to everyone—to Phil and his stupid friend; to the group of women beside them; to someone that looked suspiciously like Steve Irwin. "You all had to have someone or something you cared about that you don't have now! How can you just _forget_ that?"

Nobody answered me, they all just looked either at the rocks on the ground or at each other, but they all had the same expression on their faces. It wasn't an expression that said I was right, and that they were remembering their lives on Earth. It was an expression that said they wanted someone to come help them and get the crazy teenager to stop shrieking at them. I had just opened my mouth to go off on the bunch of retards again, when I heard from behind me, "Cartman!"

I closed my mouth and blinked. Who the fuck knew me down here? I turned around to see fucking _Kenny_ six feet away from me. He looked more pissed off than I felt, which was saying something, since I was ready to try to kill some of these fucking dead people again. But Kenny looked like someone had just stolen his last goddamn Pop Tart or something.

"You know this kid?" the old guy said to Kenny, who nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "He's... We were friends, up there." He looked up at the sky—it was red, too, everything down here was fucking red—and then at me. "Dude, Cartman, I need to talk to you."

"Yes, please inform your friend of the proper newbie Hell etiquette," the old guy said, sighing again. "He's been upsetting people."

"Yeah," Kenny said, giving me a look that said, _"Just shut the fuck up, Cartman,"_ before I could say anything. I normally wouldn't listen to anything he told me to do, but Hell was more his territory than mine, and I wasn't retarded enough to do anything that would piss him off more than he was already. Not here, anyway; he had an unfair advantage. He had friends down here, and they didn't have to worry about risking their lives for him; since they were already dead, they were the best backup ever. I knew better than to fight someone with that kind of security. "Sorry, Eli. We're going now."

"Yo, Kenny, you coming to my barbecue tonight?" Phil called.

Kenny shrugged. "I don't know," he said to Phil. "I have some stuff I have to do."

"Well, come by if you can," Phil said. "We're having steak."

Kenny paused, and then said, "I'll try to make it."

Phil nodded, and Kenny grabbed my sleeve and dragged me along with him down the one rocky path that existed until we got to something that looked a lot like downtown South Park. There was one big rocky street, sidewalks, and buildings on either side. Way the hell at the end of the street, I could see one big building that looked like a mall or something.

I yanked my arm back and glared at him. Now that we were by ourselves, I didn't have to worry about a million fucking people rushing to Kenny's defence. "Where the fuck are we? And don't just tell me 'Hell', I figured that one out all on my own."

"Main Street," Kenny said, looking past me. "Come on." He started walking down the sidewalk, in the direction of the mall or whatever it was.

"'Main Street'? Jesus Christ, you guys have a town down here?" Kenny was walking so fucking fast I almost had to jog to keep up with him. "Goddammit, slow down."

"I told you before, it's not all fire and evil here," Kenny said, rolling his eyes at me but slowing down slightly. "Hell's gotten a lot more sophisticated."

I snorted. "Yeah, sophisticated. Getting people to forget about their lives is _really_ fucking sophisticated."

Kenny stopped walking and sighed, leaning against the building we were closest to. There was a dark alley between it and the next building, and I moved away from the alley; I didn't trust this place, how was I supposed to know what the fuck kind of demon lived in that alley? Kenny's hair fell in his face and he shoved it out of the way before looking up at me. "Look," he said. "I've talked to some people about that. Sometimes Satan lets me show new arrivals around this place, because he feels like certain people have too much to deal with already without having the actual devil talk to them. And, well," He smiled a little and shrugged. "Who would be upset by having a good-looking blond guy help them through the process of being dead?"

I rolled my eyes. Christ, he was full of himself. "You just leave out the part about you being poor as fuck."

Kenny ignored me, continuing, "Anyway, a lot of people can't handle being dead and knowing that there's so much good they've left behind them. Especially ones like... Ones that died way too young, through accidents or murders or stuff like that."

"Ones like me," I said. Kenny nodded.

"So, Satan came up with this thing," he said. "The forgetting thing. It's a really long process that takes years, but gradually, a person's memory will fade until all they remember is their life here. It just makes things better for so many people, so they don't have to be haunted by stuff from their Earth lives."

"That's fucking retarded," I said. "Where the fuck is the fucking Prince of Darkness, anyway? Or did he send _you_ to—" I stopped. "You died too," I said, the significance of Kenny being here too finally hitting me.

"You're just figuring that out?" Kenny said. There was a lot of bitterness in his tone, but I wasn't paying attention to that.

"You died _too_ ," I repeated. "What the fuck happened?"

"The plane crashed," he said, looking at me like I was retarded. "You know that; I heard you shrieking it at Eli and Phil and everyone."

"Do you know _why_ it crashed?" I didn't give Kenny a chance to answer. I knew exactly why the fuck the plane had gone down now. "I'll _tell_ you why it crashed! Because _you_ were supposed to die, again, like you always fucking do, but somehow you managed to bring all of us along with you! You fucking cursed us, Kenny! If you'd just fucking _stayed_ dead for once, you wouldn't have fucking killed the rest of us!"

"Shut up, Cartman," Kenny fucking _growled_ at me. His eyes were narrowed and he looked ready to kill me. Whatever, he couldn't do a goddamn thing to me. I was already dead because of him.

"You fucking know it's true," I said. "Death came for you and you dragged the whole plane down. How does it feel to know you murdered all your friends?"

"'e did not murder anyone," said a gravelly French voice, and then fucking _Frenchy_ stepped out from the alley, followed by _Craig_ , who greeted us with his middle finger. Yeah, like he was _that_ fucking hardcore. They were both holding cigarettes; leave it to those two to find a way to keep their disgusting habit going even after they died.

"What the fuck are you hiding in a fucking alley for?" I demanded. Craig flipped me off again and Frenchy just rolled his eyes.

"Anti-smoking lecture, right?" Kenny said from beside me. I glanced at him; he was watching Craig and Frenchy and almost smiling at them, but it didn't take much to be able to tell he was still furious about something. "You're skipping out on it."

"Dude, I don't want to have to listen to fucking Rob Reiner for hours," Craig said, dropping his finished cigarette on the ground and holding out his hand. Frenchy rolled his eyes, but handed Craig another cigarette and a lighter, muttering something in French at him.

"Whatever, you're the one who had cigarettes with you. I left mine at home," Craig said to him, managing to flip him off and light his cigarette at the same time. His hands were shaking, and when he looked up again, I could swear he looked like he was about to fucking _cry_ , but he saw me watching him and just aimed his middle finger in my direction. I was just about to ask him what his fucking problem was when I realized that he was pretty much in the same situation as me; I didn't see Tweek anywhere around. I kept my mouth shut, thinking about Butters again. He wouldn't have liked for me to rip on Craig for missing Tweek. Butters had always liked the two of them. I didn't understand why—Tweek got annoying after five minutes, and Craig was a stupid asshole—but then, I didn't understand why Butters liked _me_ either.

"You're not actually supposed to smoke here," Kenny said, eyeing their cigarettes. "Satan's really against it; that's why he got Rob Reiner to sell him his soul so he could use him to lead the lectures every week."

"What's he going to do, kill us?" Craig said bitterly.

Kenny shrugged.

"Fucking Poor Boy already fucking killed us," I said, kicking a rock in Kenny's direction. "We're already fucking screwed."

Kenny kicked the rock back at me and said angrily, "Fuck off, Cartman, I didn't fucking kill you!"

Frenchy blew smoke at us before saying, "McCormick 'ad nozing to do wiz ze plane crash." He sounded _too_ certain.

"'Tophe," Kenny said, his eyes wide. "Did you...?"

"I 'ad a mission," Frenchy said sharply, taking another drag on his cigarette. "It, quite obviously, did not go as planned."

" _You_ fucking killed us?" I glared so hard at him my head hurt. "Well, I hope you're fucking proud of yourself, Frenchy."

He tossed his burning cigarette at me and lit a new one, his old one just barely missing me. "Again, I did not plan for ze plane to crash. In case you 'aven't noticed, I am dead as well. Do you zink I planned zat?"

"What happened?" Kenny asked, before I could say anything else. Frenchy stuck his cigarette back in his mouth, and it was Craig who answered.

"He told me—" he said, glancing at the French retard beside him. "—that he was supposed to get jewels back from some guy that had stolen them from some museum in London, or something."

"So you weren't even supposed to kill anybody? You were just supposed to get fucking _jewels_?" I demanded. "How did you fuck that up?"

"Zey were _ready_ for me," Frenchy snapped at me. "Somebody 'ad warned zem zat zey were being tracked, and one of zem 'ad a taser. It is not easy even for an accomplished mercenary such as myself to avoid a taser."

"Maybe it's time you got a real job," I snapped back at him. "Oh, wait, you're dead. You fucked up everything, you French piece of—"

"Cartman, shut the fuck up, Jesus Christ," Kenny yelled at me.

"Oh, I'm _sorry_ , Kenny, but in case you didn't hear, he _killed_ us. Not everyone is a freak who can fucking _resurrect_! You can go back to South Park, but none of the rest of us can! You're the only one who can say you fucking survived, remember?" I yelled back.

"I'm not the only one," Kenny said, so quietly I almost didn't catch what he said. He'd gone from looking like he wanted to knock me unconscious to looking miserable in less than two seconds. He was staring at the ground, and his hair was in his face again but he just left it there.

"What?" Craig and I said at the same time. Frenchy stayed silent, but joined us in staring at the blond, who lifted his head slowly, and looked at each of us, eyes finally resting on Craig.

"Tweek and Token survived," he said, just as quietly. Craig said nothing, but when he lifted his cigarette, I could see his hands shaking even more than they had been before. Kenny moved his eyes to Frenchy. "And Kyle."

Frenchy muttered something under his breath. Kenny looked at me next.

"Butters is in Heaven," he said. I could just nod; I'd somehow known that he was going to tell me that. "With Stan and Clyde."

Craig made a noise, and we all looked at him. He looked like he was trying to smile, but he couldn't quite get there. "Clyde made it up there, huh?" he said. His voice cracked on the word 'there'. "Never thought..." He trailed off, obviously not even trying to hide how much it bothered him that Clyde was dead too. I'd always known that Craig wasn't as tough as he tried to pretend he was; he was just a wuss.

"I'm sorry you had to find out like this, you guys," Kenny said, and I could hear the anger in his voice again, along with the misery. "If I could—"

He was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Satan, who just popped into existence and scared the fuck out of me, not that I would ever admit that to anyone. Especially considering the Prince of fucking Darkness was wearing a _pink_ _apron_ , and _oven mitts_ , like he was fucking Martha Stewart instead of Lord of the Underworld or whatever else people called him. Christ, he had too many fucking names.

"Look who finally decided to show up," I muttered to myself. I saw Craig and Christophe hide their cigarettes.

"Kenny," Satan said, looking down at us with a smile. "Damien said you were looking for me?"

"Damien's down here?" I blinked.

"Duh," Kenny said, rolling his eyes at me before saying to Satan, "Yeah. I need to talk to you."

He sounded like he wanted to knock _Satan_ unconscious now. I wondered what the fuck Satan had done to him. Maybe he'd stolen Kenny's little pink apron.

"Well, all right. Why don't you come back to the house with me? I'm just in the middle of baking cookies," Satan said. He glanced at the rest of us. "Would your friends like to come too?"

"No," Kenny said quickly. "I need to talk to you alone." He turned to the rest of us. "I'll find you guys later, okay? Stay together. Go hang out at the mall or something." He pointed down the street—looked like I'd been right, it was a mall—and then he and Satan disappeared.

"What the fuck was that about?" I asked nobody in particular. Frenchy just started walking in the direction Kenny had been pointing in. Craig shrugged at me, and then followed him. I sighed, trailing after the two of them and their cigarette smoke. It figured I had to be stuck down here with _them_ and their goddamn tobacco. The next time I saw Satan I was going to complain. Maybe he could lock them in their goddamn Rob Reiner parties so they couldn't sneak out again.

I wondered how Butters was doing. At least he wasn't alone.


	15. The Lucky Ones: Kyle

I hung up the phone slowly, nodding thank you to the receptionist at the front desk. That had been the hardest call I had ever had to make in my life. I'd known it wasn't going to be easy; that was why I'd put it off for so long. She smiled at me, but it was sad and sympathetic and just slightly pitying, one of _those_ smiles; I could tell that she had been listening to my conversation, but then, the whole waiting room had probably heard both sides of it. My mom was naturally loud to start with, and these were unnatural circumstances; it wasn't every day she got a phone call from me, after days of watching news reports telling her that the plane from Colorado to New York that I'd been on had crashed, leaving few survivors. Half of the conversation I'd just had with her had been her detailing every report on the crash that had aired on the news for the past five days.

I could still hear her voice echoing in my mind as I left the waiting room, trudging down the nearly empty, painfully quiet hospital hallway towards room 136, Token and Tweek's room. And mine, I guess, for the time being, since I had nowhere else to stay, and I didn't want to leave my friends by themselves in a hospital in New Jersey, so far from home. I was the only one of us that had, miraculously, come out the crash completely unharmed, except for one bruise on my arm. Neither one of them was recovered enough—Token _said_ he was all right, but anyone could tell he was in a _lot_ of pain, and one of the doctors I'd talked to said that he had internal bleeding that needed to constantly be monitored, and Tweek was in a _coma —_ to be able to walk, so I'd had to go call my mom by myself, because all the rest of my friends were… I stopped, four doors down from 136, and tried to breathe normally, leaning against the nearest wall. Closing my eyes, I ground my teeth together; I was not going to cry again, not right now. If I'd managed to hold it together while talking to my mom, I could hold it together when I went to go see Token and Tweek.

Apparently the plane crash was all that had been being reported on the news back in South Park; my mom had said that everyone's parents were freaking out. The first thing she had said to me, once she had accepted that yes, the plane really had crashed, yes, I was in the hospital but yes, I was all right, had been, "What about your friends, _bubbe_? Are they all right? I've talked to the other parents and they haven't heard anything and they're all so worried." It was so hard to hear the hope in her voice, and to know that she had to be blocking out the fact that there had only been five people to survive the crash; I didn't think that was something the news reports would have left out. Even one person managing to stay alive after something like that would be amazing, but five?

"Mom," I'd said, turning my back on the people in the waiting room who'd been watching me, so that I was only facing the receptionist, who had pretended to look busy. I kept my voice as soft as I could, but the waiting room was so quiet someone would have to be deaf not to be able to at least make out the gist of what I was saying. "They – they're not all…" I swallowed, feeling like I was going to be sick, and held onto the counter to keep myself physically steady. My voice was shaking. "They're not all okay. Tweek – Tweek's in a coma." I'd heard her inhale, and knew she was ready to say something else, but I had to keep going or else I would never be able to say it. "Token's got – the doctor told me internal bleeding, but it won't be fatal to him. Everyone – everyone else… There were only five survivors," I finished, the words coming out in a whisper. "It's – it's a miracle I made it, Mom, it's a miracle I st – still have Token and Tweek." God, I hoped Tweek woke up.

Anyone who didn't know my mom would have thought she didn't care that I'd just pretty much come right out and told her that almost all of my closest friends, guys I'd grown up with and spent my whole childhood with, were dead. Instead of bursting into tears, or telling me she was sorry, or anything like that, she just said, her voice still loud and shrill but her tone almost businesslike, "What hospital did you say you were in, _bubbe_? I'll get everyone together and we'll come get you on the next flight."

"No," I'd said instead, shaking my head even though she couldn't see me. "No, Mom, don't, please." My stomach started tying itself in knots as I imagined my mom and dad and my friends' parents getting on a plane and showing up here. "I don't – I can't, just... Please." Even though my inner five year old was screaming at me that I needed my mom to be here, to make everything better for me, I knew that this was something she just couldn't fix. And I knew I wouldn't be able to handle her being here; I couldn't handle anyone else's parents being here either, not now. Token and Tweek's parents would be upset enough, God, especially Tweek's, but everyone else— _Stan_ 's parents, I thought, inhaling sharply as I imagined their reactions; the Marshes were practically family—would just be too much. On top of that, I didn't even know what had caused the plane to crash in the first place. What if it had been because there was something wrong with the plane, and the flight they all got on had the same problem, and _it_ crashed too? I'd just lost seven out of my nine closest friends; if I lost my parents, if Token and Tweek lost _their_ parents too...

_Dude_ , I could just hear Stan saying to me; I could see him shaking his head, and looking at me, his blue eyes filled with amusement, smiling just a little. _You sound like Tweek._

_I do sound like Tweek_ , I thought to myself, gripping the telephone receiver more tightly. _Except that what I'm afraid of actually happened this time..._

I'd had to fight with my mom for almost fifteen minutes before she finally gave in and said that she would stay home, but that she wasn't going to stay home and do nothing, she was going to get all the parents together and start a support group, so they would all have somebody to talk to. That was my mom, I thought now, offering a half-sort-of-smile to a nurse walking down the hall. It was such a Sheila Broflovski thing to do. At least this way, I knew that all my friends' parents would be...better. Not okay, there was no way any of them would be okay, maybe ever again. But with my mom there to lead a support group, they would at least all be together, not suffering alone. The nurse nodded at me as she passed and gave me the same smile the receptionist had; I was pretty sure everyone in the hospital knew my story by now, judging by the whispers I heard, and the way I could see people giving me sympathetic looks out of the corner of my eye, every time I left the hospital room.

Before hanging up, my mom had made me promise that I would call her at the very least once a day, and that I should get Token to call his parents as soon as I could; she would talk to Tweek's parents herself, but if he woke up, she said, I had to call them to let them know. I pushed myself off the wall and ran one hand through my hair as I made it the rest of the way to 136. Maybe he had woken up while I was gone; maybe he was sitting up, drinking some coffee and talking to Token right now.

The door was half-closed, just the way I'd left it when I'd gone to call home. I knocked once, and then pushed the door open, my eyes immediately going to Tweek's side of the room. Honestly, I'd been expecting it, but I still felt like I'd just gotten punched in the stomach when I saw him lying there, eerily motionless, except for the slow rising and falling of his chest, the only real sign that he was still alive. I inhaled sharply, unconsciously taking a step backwards. The generic white hospital blankets were pulled up to his chin, his arms resting on either side of him on top of them. Tweek had always been small and pale, even smaller and paler than me, but right now his skin color almost matched the blankets, and he looked so frail it made me want to cry. He had a big white bandage just over his left eye and his hair, which was usually so out of control and all over the place, was just...lifeless, spread over the pillow under his head.

"It's wrong, isn't it?"

I nodded, my eyes lingering on Tweek for a few seconds before looking over at Token. He was sitting up halfway, leaning against his pillow, an open magazine sitting on his lap. He wasn't looking at the magazine, though, or at me; he was watching Tweek.

"Did he do...anything?" I asked, not surprised when Token shook his head.

"He hasn't moved," he said, his voice flat. "I asked the nurse to bring him some coffee, just in case that, you know, helped or something, but..." He left the sentence unfinished, and I noticed a mug of what could only be coffee sitting on the table that separated their beds. "What did your mom say?"

"I told her about Tweek, and she said that if he – when he wakes up," I said, praying that it was a _when_ not an _if_. "That I have to call his parents to let them know. She wants you to call yours as soon as you can, too, but they know about…everything. It's been all over the news, I guess."

Token nodded, but didn't say anything else, just kept watching Tweek. I felt even more awful than I had before when I saw him blink away tears; seeing Tweek like that had to be so hard for him, even harder than things were for me right now. I'd lost Stan, my best friend and, I thought miserably, the person I loved most in the world; Kenny, who had always been there for me, no matter what; _Christophe_ , who, God, I'd been _so_ close to confessing my feelings to _…_ Even Cartman, my mortal enemy, being gone made me miserable. I'd been friends with, or at least known them, for nearly my whole life, and now there was no way I was ever going to see them again, and _that_ was horrible; nobody should ever have to go through something like that.

But Token… Not only had he lost his Clyde— _his_ best friend—and Craig, he had to sit here in the hospital and see Tweek, the only other one of his close group of friends to make it through the crash with his life—though just barely—in a coma. It had been _five_ days; after three, the doctors had told me, and I had told Token, that if Tweek didn't wake up soon, there was a very small chance that he would make it another week. It had to be torture for Token, being so close to him but knowing there was nothing he could do…

"God, Token, I'm sorry." I pushed the door shut behind me with the heel of my foot and crossed the room, lowering myself unsteadily onto the chair on the right side of Token's bed, so that I was facing both him and Tweek.

"Not your fault," Token said, sighing softly and flipping the magazine in front of him—Rolling Stone; I could see the cover now—shut. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. I looked across the room again, at the other bed.

"Isn't it?" I asked quietly, after a minute, keeping my eyes on Tweek. "None of us would have been on that plane if it wasn't for me." All the guilt I had been feeling for the past five days, the guilt I had been trying so hard not to show anybody, suddenly was too much for me to just keep inside. "It was _my_ birthday present, I was the only reason we were even going to New York, and now... Now you're in the hospital, Tweek's in a coma, and everyone else is – is _dead_ ," I finished, my voice breaking on the last word and the tears I had vowed not to let out streaming down my face. That was the first time I had let myself say the word. " _Look_ at me, Token, I barely even have a scratch on me. I was on the same plane as you were, I was in the same _crash_ , and I'm perfectly fine. How is that even _fair_?" I was having trouble controlling the volume of my voice; I guess I really was Sheila Broflovski's son.

Without moving, or even opening his eyes, Token said, "It isn't fair, but it's not your fault either."

"But it's all because of _me_." How could he not see that?

"Actually..." Token opened his eyes as he raised himself up on his hands and scooted back a little, wincing, but sitting up straighter. "Fuck," he muttered, staring down at the blanket covering his legs before finally looking at me.

"How are you—" The words stuck in my throat; I coughed, and then tried again. "How are you feeling?"

Lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug, Token said, "I'll live," then immediately looked like he wished he could take the words back. I knew he was thinking the same thing I was. He'd live...but we were the only two who could say that. For now, anyway, I thought with a small sigh as my eyes found their way to Tweek again. Part of me wished that it was me in that coma.

Token was saying something else, but it took me another few seconds to refocus on him. "...and Kenny was going to go after him but then everything started...happening."

"After who?" I sniffled loudly, and Token sort-of-almost smiled at me before reaching beside him for the box of Kleenex and pushing it across the bed to me. I took a couple tissues, vaguely wondering how much self-restraint it was taking him to not roll his eyes at me like he normally would.

"Christophe," he said, and I froze with a handful of Kleenex halfway to my nose.

"Go after Christophe where?" I said, my voice sharper than I intended it to be. I hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but anything involving Christophe these days tended to make me react more intensely than usual.

"The front of the plane."

Token's eyes widened, but that was all I saw before I turned my head so quickly I nearly spun right around and crashed into the wall. I managed to stop myself just in time, though, my forehead two inches from making contact. I lifted my head, staring at Kenny, who was standing in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob. He smiled, but it was a different kind of smile; it wasn't his usual Kenny grin, but it wasn't the same smile the receptionist and the nurse had given me. Kenny's smile was just sad, not pitying, but at the same time, I could swear that when I really looked at him, there was just a hint of happiness there too.

"Just because you're in a hospital doesn't mean you have to hurt yourself, you know," he said to me before nodding at Token in greeting. I saw his eyes flick over to Tweek and his grip on the doorknob tightened.

"Kenny…?" I felt like I was dreaming, but a quick glance at Token, whose confused expression mirrored how I felt, confirmed that this was real. "But you…"

"Died?" he finished for me; I could hear bitterness in his tone, although his expression remained the same. "Like that ever lasts." He leaned against the doorframe, hooking his thumbs in the pockets of the black jeans he was wearing, and shook his hair out of his face. "I would have come back sooner, but I had to talk to Satan about some things."

I looked at Token again, and he looked at me. Somehow we had both managed to forget that we were friends with the one person on Earth that death wasn't permanent for; I didn't know how. We'd both seen Kenny get run over, stabbed, shot, decapitated, and a million other things, and still, he always showed up a couple hours later, happy and healthy and alive. Of _course_ a plane crash couldn't keep Kenny from living his life. And now I had one of my best friends back. I was so grateful for Kenny in that moment that I couldn't even talk—if I opened my mouth again I felt like I was going to either throw up or cry—and Token seemed to pick up on that, because he turned back to Kenny and said, "So you went to Hell?"

"Yeah." Kenny shrugged, kicking at the floor. "Guess I was an asshole."

There was silence after that, except for the occasional beeping of the machines hooked up to Tweek on the other side of the room. Token looked down and started tearing at the corner of Rolling Stone, and I watched Kenny, who was watching Tweek.

"So if assholes go to Hell," Token said, after a few minutes, like he was thinking very carefully about something. He paused. Kenny turned his head to look at him and I did the same, realizing half a second before Token asked the question what he must be wondering. "You didn't…by any chance see…anyone…down there, did you?" he said, all three of us knowing exactly who he was talking about. The words came out slowly and softly; he looked like he wasn't sure whether or not he really wanted to hear the answer. There was only one asshole that Token was good enough friends with to care that much about.

Kenny closed his eyes briefly, focusing on Tweek again when he opened them. He nodded.

"Was he—" Token swallowed , gritting his teeth against the obvious pain he was in as he tried to sit up a little more. "How was he?"

"Pissed," Kenny said, glancing at Token. "I saw him after he'd been to his first anti-smoking lecture."

Token snorted, almost like he was trying to laugh. "Can't say you didn't warn him," he said.

"Them," Kenny said, his eyes meeting mine. He held my gaze for a few seconds and then said, "He was with 'Tophe. Cartman and I ran into them on our way to the mall." He paused. "The others… Stan, Clyde, Butters… They're in Heaven. I was going to go see then, but… I just needed to come see you guys first, before I went up there."

"Jesus," I whispered, breaking eye contact and lifting a shaking hand, twisting some of my hair around my fingers.

"I'm so sorry, you guys, you don't even…" Kenny shook his head. "If there was anything I could do… If I could fix it…"

"It's not your fault," Token said, echoing his own words to me from earlier. "It's not like you could have stopped it."

"Maybe I could have," Kenny said to him, speaking so quietly I almost didn't catch it. He sighed, keeping his eyes on the floor. "If I'd been faster, maybe I could have caught up to him and stopped him."

"Stopped…who?" I looked from Kenny to Token and back again. Somewhere along the line I'd missed something.

"'Tophe," Kenny said, and my stomach flipped. "It's… He was trying to stop some guy from getting jewels to New York, or something. He said that Gregory called him the night you had your birthday party, and gave him a mission. I saw him chase a guy from the back of the plane through the curtain to first class, just before…" He coughed, finishing miserably, "He said it's only the second time he ever failed a mission."

"Oh, God." I was so glad I was sitting down; if I had been standing, I knew my legs would have given out at Kenny's words. Christophe. I'd _known_ something was up with him that morning, before we got on the plane. He'd been so edgy, and he kept looking around the airport like he was trying to find someone, which, I guess, in retrospect, he had been.

"He tried so hard, Kyle," Kenny said to me. I nodded, dully, sliding my right hand into the pocket of my jeans and grasping the garnet ring Christophe had given me for my birthday, the ring I had almost forgotten about until just now. "He told me that he'd gotten to the airport hours before we were supposed to meet there, because he was hoping the guy he was supposed to confront would show up early too and try to – to get away, or something. He didn't want it to have to happen on the plane, he knew that probably wouldn't end well, but he didn't even see the guy until you and Clyde got to the airport, and we were already late by then, so…" He sighed. "He didn't say very much, after that, really. But it's so obvious that he feels awful, and I can tell that he wouldn't blame you if you hated him for it…and he would probably kill me for telling you all of this, but you have to know, Kyle, that he would have done anything to keep you safe."

I could feel both Kenny and Token's eyes on me. I slipped the ring onto my finger and took my hand out of my pocket, staring at the shiny red jewel. "Will you see him again?" I said softly, continuing before Kenny could respond. "Because if you do, you need to tell him he's pretty fucking stupid, for someone who's supposed to be a world-renowned, highly intelligent mercenary, if he thinks I would hate him for something that wasn't really his fault." Tears spilled out of my eyes again, falling onto the ring, the reflection of the light making it seem brighter than it was.

"I always knew you liked him," said Token, smiling a sad half-smile when I looked up at him. "I'm sorry, dude."

I shook my head, staring down at the ring again as I brushed at my eyes with my left hand. "Not your fault," I said, and I heard Token laugh softly. Kenny came all the way into the room and sat down on the edge of Token's bed.

"I'll see him eventually," he said, a small smile on his face. "I have to go up to talk to God and Jesus, and…everyone, though, so it won't be until the next time I get back, and die again. But…" He looked up at the ceiling; I followed his gaze, but there was nothing up there but the fluorescent light and a fan. "You never know who's watching. Maybe he already knows."

I wrapped both of my arms around myself, and offered Kenny a tiny, shaky smile, the first real smile I'd had since waking up here five days ago. Nothing was ever going to be the same in my life again, but at least, no matter what happened, I still had Token, and I would _always_ have Kenny; I would never have to worry about being alone. They were all I had left in the world, and I was so grateful for them. "Thanks," I whispered.

"It's what I do," said Kenny; his tone had never been more serious. He stood up again. "I have to go," he said, moving towards the door, his eyes moving back and forth between me and Token. "Is there anything you want me to say to anyone up there?" he asked.

"Just," Token said, picking up Rolling Stone and setting it on the table beside him, and carefully sliding down so he was lying down again. "Tell Clyde I'm okay."

Kenny nodded. "Kyle?"

There was so much I wanted to say to Stan, but I couldn't put any of it into words. Finally I just said, "Tell Stan I miss him… And tell Butters I'm sorry."

Another nod. Walking backwards to the door, Kenny said, "I'll be back as soon as I—"

He was cut off by one of the machines surrounding Tweek's bed. It was beeping more quickly than it had been before, and louder.

"What does that mean?" I demanded, panic seeping into my voice, looking desperately at both of my friends like either one of them would have an explanation. Token had sat straight up again, and by the look on his face doing so had caused him an unbelievable amount of pain, but he didn't seem to care; I followed his gaze to the source of the shrill beeping. There were a bunch of things scrolling across the screen on the machine but I didn't understand anything about it.

"I don't know," Token said, sounding as alarmed as I felt. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him turn to Kenny. "Get someone."

Before Kenny could even move, though, I heard the sound of sheets rustling, and saw a small, pale arm twitch, just a little.

"Oh, my God," Token whispered, and I knew he'd seen it too.

"Tweek…?" My heart was racing. _Oh, God, Tweek, please…_

A small groan came from the other bed, and then a shaky, small voice said, in a tone so sad and scared it broke my heart, "C – Craig?"


	16. Pain: Token

"Oh, my God," I whispered again, glancing over at Kyle and Kenny for a split-second; just long enough to register the fact that no, I hadn't gone crazy, Tweek was actually awake. Kyle was staring at Tweek's bed, his mouth slightly open and his eyes wide. I knew that expression; everybody who knew Kyle had seen it a million times, usually right after Cartman had actually managed to successfully pull off some random scheme. That was Kyle's, _'Wait, what the fuck?'_ face. Kenny was still in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed, his eyes also on Tweek's side of the room. That was all the confirmation I needed; now I just needed to pray that I wasn't dreaming, that Kyle and Kenny, and Tweek waking up, weren't all just in my mind. I could feel my heart thumping dangerously fast. I needed to know; I needed to really be _sure_. I threw my blankets off and swung my legs over the side of the hospital bed, doing my best to ignore how much the sudden movements hurt. "Fuck," I muttered, slowly trying to get to my feet.

"Should you be moving?" I heard Kyle ask.

I didn't answer him; I couldn't. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I forced myself to stand. God _dammit_ , that hurt. I paused, my shoulders hunched, and took a couple of deep breaths. Honestly, no, I _shouldn't_ be moving; every one of the three doctors I'd seen since being in this place had told me that the only thing I could do was stay in bed and rest, otherwise whatever was wrong with me—internal bleeding or something; whatever it was sounded way too much like something that belonged on a TV show, not anything I'd ever thought would happen to me—could just get worse and then I could die too. The first time I'd heard that, when I'd first woken up and seen where I was, and after I'd really understood what exactly had just happened, I had been tempted to leap out of bed right then and there and do laps around the room just so maybe it _would_ kill me.

I'd never in my life been suicidal; I thought killing yourself was one of the most retarded things someone could do, actually. But when I'd found out that Clyde, my best friend even if he was a little slower than the average person, and Craig—a douchebag if I'd ever met one, but the best douchebag I knew—hadn't made it through the crash, and that Tweek was in a coma not ten feet away from me, well, I hadn't exactly been thinking clearly. Clyde, Craig, and Tweek were _my_ guys; even though there was that big group of us that hung out all the time, those three—Clyde especially—had always been the ones that came first, in my mind. They'd been my closest friends for years, and losing two of them, with the huge possibility of losing _all_ of them, had pretty much fucked with my head.

Kyle had walked into the room as I'd been thinking about all of that, somehow completely unhurt but looking about as awful as I was feeling inside. He'd been typical Kyle, though; whatever he was feeling, he managed to push it all away and tell me he was sorry, and ask if there was anything he could do. He felt responsible for everything, I could tell, and the first thing I'd said to him, before 'hello', before 'what the fuck happened', before anything else, I'd told him not to feel guilty, that it had been a freak plane crash but it had nothing to do with him. But he was Kyle, and I knew that no matter what I said, since the trip had been his birthday present, he was always going to feel like it was his fault. That was just the way Kyle worked. The only person I'd ever known who could actually reassure him was Stan, but...

I'd already known that the two of us and Tweek were the only three out of the ten of us that had survived; the doctor who'd talked to me when I'd woken up had said something about how lucky I was to be alive, and how there'd only been five survivors: me, a blond and a redhead boy about my age, and a little girl and her mom. I'd known the redhead had to be Kyle, but it wasn't until the doctor had mentioned that I would sharing my room with the comatose blond, and I'd turned my head to look, that I'd seen that the still, frail body lying there belonged to Tweek.

Kyle and I were in the same kind of position, I'd realized. He'd lost his closest group of friends too—Kenny's ability to resurrect hadn't even crossed my mind—not to mention Christophe, and it had to be killing him inside just as much as me losing mine was killing me. I couldn't leave him all alone, not when we were the only two left. So even though a big chunk of my brain was ready to give up because two thirds of the people I was closest to in the world had died, I listened to the doctors. I stayed in that hospital bed, only moving to sit up, lie down, or reach for something on the table beside me.

But fuck the doctors now. Tweek had twitched, he had _talked_ —he'd asked for Craig; I didn't even want to think about what would happen when he found out—and I needed to get to him. And that meant I had to move; I lurched forwards. God, just going across the room made it feel like my insides were on fire. I had to stop again when I was halfway there just so I didn't pass out or something; falling down would _definitely_ not be a good thing right now.

"Token—" Kyle started from behind me.

"Nnnh," I interrupted, the word 'no' getting tangled up with my groan of pain as I took another step.

"Token?" Tweek's voice was quiet, and raspy. He sounded so confused, like he thought none of this was real. The same way I'd felt when I'd woken up and, I was willing to bet anything, the same way Kyle felt.

"Tweek." I made it to Tweek's bed and collapsed onto the chair sitting beside one of the machines. "How are – I..." What did a person say in this kind of situation?

"Wh – where am – what's going...?" Tweek lifted a pale, shaking hand and touched the bandage on his forehead. He winced when his fingers made contact and I saw him shiver. His eyes flickered towards Kenny in the doorway and Kyle, who was halfway between the door and Tweek's bed, looking like he wasn't sure what to do. Coughing weakly, Tweek pulled his blankets tighter around himself and lifted his head a little, gazing around the whole room.

"You're in the hospital." It was Kyle who spoke, his voice soft, and laced with grief.

"Hospital?" Tweek mumbled hollowly, his head falling back on the pillow.

"Th – the plane..." Kyle trailed off and I saw him swallow hard as he looked at me. His eyes were full of pain and helplessness.

Goddammit, I couldn't let him be the one to be the bearer of horrible news, I just couldn't. It had to be me, I thought, looking down at the only one of my closest friends I had left. I owed it to Tweek to be the one to explain things to him. Not Kyle. I opened my mouth to tell Tweek about the plane crash, about his coma, about everything that had happened, but before I could even think of how I was going to start an explanation, he looked around at the three of us and whispered, with fear in his eyes, "Is C – Craig here?"

Fuck... I felt like I was going to throw up. I _really_ didn't want to tell him what had happened to Craig, but there was absolutely no way to avoid it. I couldn't just leave Craig out of the entire story; Tweek had been in a coma, he wasn't suffering from amnesia. Obviously, since he'd just asked for Craig twice in the last two minutes. I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath, wincing at another sharp stab of pain. Craig was the most important person in his life, of course he was who Tweek would ask for first. If any one of us avoided the question one more time, I knew that Tweek would start thinking up some epic, awful thing that could have happened to keep Craig from being in this room right now. For once though, I thought miserably as I stared at the white tile of the hospital room floor, Tweek's paranoia might actually be close to the truth.

"T – Token?"

I raised my head just in time to see Tweek cough again. God, he looked so... _small_. Shivering again, he looked up at me and I couldn't help wishing that I was the one who was dead and Craig was sitting in this chair. Tweek looked _terrified_. Finding out Craig was...gone, was going to kill him inside; he was going to be even more broken that he had been last year. How was I supposed to do it? How was I supposed to tell him that the one person he trusted the most in his life, the one person in the world that could make him feel better when he was worried or scared, wasn't going to be there to help him anymore?

"I can't..." I could barely get the words out. I tore my gaze away from Tweek and buried my head in my hands. I hated this. I hated this so much. We were supposed to be having fun, just hanging out in New York like the bunch of crazy teenagers we were. Clyde was going to get his time with Craig, which he'd been excited about for months—and maybe in the process, realize how much in denial he was about just what exactly it was he felt for him. Butters was supposed to get to go ice skating at Rockefeller Center; he'd always talked about how much he loved skating. I was supposed to just be able to hang out with all my friends and have an epic time, and Kyle... Kyle was supposed to have the best birthday ever, to make up for last year, and we'd all done so much to try to make sure that happened. And, judging by the shiny red ring from Christophe that had somehow survived the wreckage, the one that Kyle was wearing even now, maybe—just maybe—Kyle would have gone home from the trip a little less single than he was now.

But no. We had to get on the plane that crashed. It figured, I thought, feeling my eyes fill with tears and making no effort to stop them as they fought their way out. Of course that's what had to happen. We were from South Park. When did anything ever fucking go the way it was supposed to for us? I sniffled, wiping my nose with the sleeve of the stupid hospital gown I was wearing. I wondered for a second where my other clothes were, but then realized that I probably didn't really want to think about that.

"Oh, Jesus," Tweek mumbled, and I felt awful; I'd probably just managed to scare him even more. I tried to imagine what it must be like for him, waking up in a strange place with only three people there out of nine people who _should_ be there, not having any idea what's going on and having one of your closest friends freak out and cry when you ask. I would be scared; I was pretty sure any normal person would be scared. But this was Tweek. He had a lot more fear in him than other people did. I took a shaky breath and sniffled again. He had to know. He had to. Maybe... Maybe if I said it really fast, it would be like ripping a Band-Aid off; it would _really_ hurt for a second but then there would just be...dull pain. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that that was just retarded bullshit, but I had to ignore that part of my brain if I was ever going to be able to talk to Tweek about things.

I sat up as straight as I could in my chair without causing myself epic amounts of pain and steeled myself for what I was about to do. But when I lifted my head, I came face-to-shoulder with Kenny, who had apparently, while I'd been wallowing in misery for a few minutes, left the doorway and come to kneel beside Tweek's bed. I looked over at Kyle and he looked back at me; I was pretty sure we were both feeling the same thing: we were glad that someone had enough balls to tell Tweek what was going on—and glad it wasn't us—but we both knew that this had no way of ending well. At all.

Kyle lifted a hand to his head and winced, then moved across the room to where there was a small counter and a cupboard, just at the end of Tweek's hospital bed. "Is there Advil in here?" he asked, the question directed at nobody in particular. I wondered if he actually had a headache or if he was just trying to keep himself occupied so he could try to block out Tweek's reaction—not because he was a douchebag, but because, Kyle being Kyle, it would hurt him too much. He opened the cupboard and took out a white bottle. "Caffeine pills," he said, setting them to the side and continuing to search for a headache remedy.

"Caffeine?" Tweek sat up a little, looking in Kyle's direction.

"There's a – a cup of coffee there," I said, gesturing to the table beside the bed. "I'm not sure how... If it's still hot, or anything, though..." I trailed off as Kenny got the mug of coffee for Tweek, who downed the entire contents in one very long gulp. Apparently it had been hot enough for him. Kenny took the mug back and set it down on the table again, sighing softly. I knew what was coming, and I wished I was anywhere but where I was. I saw Kyle's shoulders tense over by the counter.

"Tweek," Kenny said quietly. "There's some things you need to know about why you're here."

"Oh, Christ," Tweek whimpered, instantly picking up on the seriousness of Kenny's tone. Kenny sounding extremely serious like that was always creepy and unnatural sounding, and a dead giveaway that there was something up.

"You were in a coma for a few days, Tweek," Kenny said, and I saw Tweek start to shake so much he was almost vibrating. "Something happened, on the plane, and it—" He paused, taking a few deep breaths, and it occurred to me that no matter how strong Kenny seemed to be on the outside, he was probably having just as much trouble telling Tweek these things as Kyle or I would have. The only difference was Kenny had guts. I guess maybe dying all the time had hardened him a little.

"What the...? Nail polish remover?" Kyle muttered to himself.

"It crashed," Kenny continued. I could see that his hands were clenched into fists.

"It – it – what?" Tweek stared at Kenny with wide, horrified eyes. Kyle raised his voice slightly, mumbling about Advil or Tylenol or something. As much as I wanted to look away from Tweek, so I didn't have to see what this was doing to him, I couldn't. My eyes stayed glued to him as Kenny kept going with his explanation in his soft, gentle-but-with-a-hint-of-anger voice.

"I don't know what happened right after the crash," Kenny said. "I... It killed me. I just got back today." I couldn't see his face and I wondered if he was able to look Tweek in the eyes while telling him this, or if he was looking somewhere else the way I would have been. Jesus, I felt like such a horrible friend.

"Ow," I said quietly. My whole body hurt. I wanted to go lie down again but I couldn't move off the chair without making a big production out of it and I didn't want to do that while Kenny was in the middle of the story.

"K- killed..." Tweek said dully, a tiny glimmer of comprehension shining in his eyes.

"I saw some of the news when I was in Hell, though." Kenny's words were coming slower; he was coming to the worst part and I wanted to cover my ears but I couldn't make my arms work. Kyle stopped talking in the middle of a sentence and though I still couldn't take my eyes off of Tweek, I could tell that he'd frozen too.

"There were only five survivors of the crash... Six, including me," he added, almost as an afterthought. "A mom and her daughter...and you three," he finished. Tweek inhaled sharply but before he could speak, Kenny said, his words coming out in a rush now, "I'm sorry, Tweek, you don't...you don't even know, if there was anything I could do, any way I could fix things, I would. I just...I'm so glad at least you guys are still..."

"Craig?" Tweek whispered one last time. The glimmer of comprehension grew into flames of understanding and tears started streaming down his face. "N – ngh! – no – he - he can't – Jesus _Chr_ —" He let out a sob and hiccup at the same time and started coughing uncontrollably, his tiny body convulsing with the force of it. Kenny stood slowly and put one of his hands on Tweek's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, and for a second it almost looked like he was going to start crying too, but he held it together. He really did have an amazing amount of strength.

"H – he s – said—" Tweek wailed between coughs and waves of tears. "He p – promised that – ghh! – that he wouldn't die until – until I – I c – can't do this without h – him! N – not – not again!"

Kenny brought his arm back to his side and stood still for a few minutes. I tore my eyes away from my weeping blond friend—I couldn't stand seeing him like that, it was so wrong it made my stomach hurt—and looked over at Kyle. The redhead was gripping the small counter tightly, his head down, and I could see tears dripping from his eyes onto the countertop. None of us, it seemed, knew what to say to Tweek. I didn't think there was anything any of us _could_ say that would have even a hope of making him feel any better. Craig was _dead_ , none of us could change that.

"I have to go," Kenny said, quietly but firmly. I stared at him for a second, not sure if I'd heard him right. He was leaving _now_? But Tweek... He glanced at me and sighed; obviously my disbelief was written all over my face.

"I have to," he said. "I have to go see the others, I have to see how they're doing. I'm the only one who can."

I nodded slowly. He did make sense, but still... I looked at Tweek and another wave of pain swept over me. I wasn't sure if it was from my injuries or if I was feeling so much emotional pain for my friend that it was coming out in physical pain, but God _dammit_ , it fucking hurt. I really needed to lie down but I didn't want to leave Tweek, even if I would only be going across the room. I shifted slightly in my chair, trying to find a more comfortable position since I was determined to stay beside Tweek as long as I had to.

"Je – Jesus Christ, please..." Tweek was whispering when Kenny crouched down again.

"I have to go up to Heaven to see Stan, Clyde, and Butters," he said. Tweek twitched to the right just a little, and blinked furiously—not that that stopped his tears at all. "And then I'll come back to see how you are, and then I'm going to need to go back down to Hell. And when I go there, I'll see Craig."

"Nhhgjesus," Tweek whimpered miserably at Craig's name, reaching behind him for the pillow and hugging it to his chest as if he could make it turn into Craig just by wishing hard enough.

"And when I go see him, I'll tell him anything you want me to say," said Kenny. "Or if you don't want to tell me, write it down, and I'll bring it to him. He misses you, so much," he added softly. "He'll never say it out loud, but it's obvious. I'm..." He sighed again, and stood up. "I'm sorry."

Tweek just shook his head; his crying hadn't slowed at all, not even when he'd managed to speak.

"I'm still here, Tweek," I said, knowing that that was a stupid thing to say. I wasn't Craig, I wasn't who Tweek wanted right now. My words weren't going to comfort him, but I had to say _something_. I felt like a useless douchebag, just sitting here not saying a word while Tweek's heart and soul were breaking into a million pieces.

"And me," Kyle said from over by the counter; he wasn't looking in our direction but his voice, though raspy and shaky, was strong.

"You're not alone, Tweek. I know...it's not much," I said, channelling my best friend as I chewed on the thumbnail of my left hand—it was a disgusting habit, one I hated, but these were extreme circumstances. That and it reminded me of Clyde...and all the times he would chew on his thumbnails when I teased him about his painfully obvious crush on Craig. "But you'll always have me and Kyle, and Kenny. We're still... We still have each other."

Letting out another tiny whimper, Tweek somehow, through his shaking, managed to sit up a little and pull his knees up to his chest, and wrap his skinny arms around his equally-as-skinny legs. He lifted his head to look first and Kenny, then Kyle, and finally me. His face was streaked with tears, and they just kept coming. "Th – thank y - ngh! – you," he choked out, his voice ragged.

"You're welcome," I said, not knowing what else to say.

Tweek sniffled. Resting his forehead on his knees, he started rocking back and forth. I could hear him muttering things to himself, but I couldn't make out what he was saying; I could just hear the pain in his voice and it broke my heart. It wasn't fucking fair that Tweek of all people had to suffer like this.

"I'll come back as soon as I can," Kenny said. "I'll get a doctor to come check on him before I go."

I nodded, not really paying attention as he headed towards Kyle, and the door. I was still too focused on Tweek, and just how much I wished that there was something I could do for him. Maybe... Maybe coffee would help. I scooted forward until I was on the edge of my chair; summoning all the strength I had in me for a second time, I made myself stand up. Yeah, it hurt like a bitch, but since he couldn't be here anymore, God knew Craig would kick my ass if I didn't do whatever was in my power to try to make Tweek feel better.


	17. I Miss You: Butters

Ever since I'd been with Eric, it seemed like I didn't get sad as much as before. Things were just always so much, well, brighter with him in my life the way he was. I didn't get picked on as much, because I don't think a lot of people really liked the idea of getting Eric mad, because when he got mad, well, that's when Cartman would come out and do all kinds of bad things to them. And even though I didn't like him being Cartman and doing those things, it was sure nice to not have to worry about getting pushed into mud puddles and ruining my clothes anymore. I'd gotten some talking-tos from my dad about mud stains, he'd always say to me, if I couldn't keep my clothes nice and clean well, then, you're grounded, mister.

I still got grounded for other things, though, but not even getting grounded made me as sad as it used to. Sometimes Eric would climb up to my window on nights when I wasn't allowed out and we'd just sit together in my room and talk, but quietly, so my parents wouldn't hear us and come find out that I wasn't alone and thinking about what I'd done the way they'd told me to do. Having Eric near me when I wasn't supposed to be with anyone made me feel, well, it made me feel really good, even though it meant I was disobeying my parents. It made me nervous too, because I didn't want to get caught, but heck, sometimes – sometimes I think a person just has to do what makes them happy, even, well, even if that means breaking some rules. Eric was worth breaking rules, to me. He was the reason I was so much happier with life, and all. The only things that really made me sad these days was when I had to see him being pretty mean, when he was Cartman, and when other people around me were sad. I really didn't like seeing other people sad, sometimes, well, sometimes that made me feel worse than if something bad had happened to me and I was the one who was sad. I just never understood why anybody had to ever be _really_ sad, and whenever I was around anyone who was, well, no matter what I was feeling I always liked to try to help them fix their sadness, so at least I knew that they were going to be okay. I liked most people, and the way I saw it, everybody had a right to be happy, and if I could do anything to help, well then darn it, I was going to do my best.

But that, well, that was before. Now, now I didn't think I would be able to make anybody feel better. I'd tried, at first, when Clyde and Stan had gotten here and they'd looked so miserable. They'd looked almost worse than I'd felt, well, Stan had, anyway. Clyde, he mostly looked like he couldn't really believe he was here still, like he thought he had to be dreaming. I understood that, I'd thought I was dreaming for the first little while too, before, before I'd remembered the plane crash and I'd seen Jesus. He'd come right when I'd started to cry, and he'd told me, all nice and everything, what had happened and where I was, and he'd said that if I went with him to Heaven, there would be a way for me to see Earth again. So I'd gone with him and he'd shown me all of the computers, and taught me how to use their version of Google Earth, and the first thing I'd done was put Eric's name in the search box. I'd had to try four times before I could see well enough to type right, because I couldn't stop crying. But when I'd pushed the enter button, I'd gotten an error message telling me that he didn't exist, and Jesus had made a kind of sighing noise, and told me that that meant that, that Eric wasn't on Earth anymore.

I might not be very smart, but I was pretty sure I understood what 'not on Earth anymore' meant. If Eric wasn't on Earth anymore, he had to be somewhere else, and well, there weren't many places he could go, really. There was outer space, I guess, but we'd been on an airplane, not a rocket ship. And if I was... If I wasn't alive anymore, because of a plane crash, and if Eric wasn't on Earth anymore, well, then that had to mean that he wasn't alive anymore either. And since I knew that he'd been Cartman for so long, down on Earth, and that Cartman was really not a very nice person, it wasn't very likely that he would have come up here, so the only other place he could have gone to was...well, Heck.

That meant that I was never going to see him again. I couldn't think that for very long, though, otherwise I would just start crying and I wouldn't be able to stop. I didn't want to cry that much, it gave me headaches and I didn't like headaches. But I didn't know what else to do, I loved Eric so much and now he was gone. He'd told me, the night before we'd left and I'd asked him where we were going to go when we died, that... Well, he'd told me we weren't going to die, but, well...he'd been wrong about that. But he'd said that he would do whatever he could to get Satan to not be able to stand him, so he'd get sent up here to be with me. I wasn't really sure if that was the way things worked, and I'd meant to ask Kenny about it, because if there was anybody who knew anything about what happened after death it was Kenny. But I'd forgotten when we were at the airport, I'd just been so excited about New York, and going to see the Statue of Liberty with Eric and going ice skating at Rockefeller Center. I hadn't even been scared of flying on an airplane anymore, not as long as I had Eric.

I was trying to still have hope, that maybe he really could find his way up here somehow, because I really didn't want to be without him, I just wanted him to be here with me and hug me and tell me everything was going to be okay, because he was here. Time went by differently here, there weren't days and nights like there were on Earth, it was all just, well, like one big long day, a day that lasted forever. People slept, even though it didn't seem like they needed to, just for something to do. It felt like I'd been here forever, I only knew that it had been four days because I was on the computers so much. Clyde and Stan, when they'd gotten here, they'd both gone right for the computers as soon as Jesus had explained it all to them, and they'd found Kyle, Token, and, in a hospital. Kenny had shown up too, a little while later. Everyone else, well, they weren't here and they weren't there, so they had to be with, with Eric. If this was the way things had to be, well, at least, at least he wasn't alone down there.

Tweek had been in a coma, but the last time Clyde, Stan, and I had checked, he'd woken up and was talking to Token. That had been the first thing that made me happy since I had been here. I didn't want anybody else dying, and, well, that and Clyde was already here, not on Earth with his best friend in the world where he should be. Tweek and Token were pretty good friends, I thought, so if they still had each other, well, then, maybe they would be closer to being okay than I was. Or than Stan was, he was so miserable without Kyle, and I thought it was extra-sad because of what had happened at Kyle's birthday party. It seemed kind of like there was something wrong between them, even when we were at the airport, and now, well, there was no way for Stan to talk to him again. Kind of like how I wouldn't see Eric ever again...

"Hey, Butters?"

I looked up from where I was sitting on the ground. I'd been so lost in thinking about everything that had happened, I hadn't heard Clyde walk up to me. He sounded like he'd just been crying, his voice was all hoarse and scratchy-sounding.

"Do you want to come with us? Stan and I are going to, um, go for a walk around just to see...what it's like up here. Since..." He coughed, and I saw him wince a little bit, like it hurt him to cough. "Since we haven't really, gone anywhere but...here." He waved one of his arms in the air and I looked around.

We'd mostly been hanging around by the computers; well, when we weren't _on_ the computers. Which we were, a lot, because, well, I knew Stan would want to see Kyle, and Clyde would want to see Token, and me, well... I just wanted to see everyone, and maybe, if I watched at just the right time, I'd see Kenny, and he'd say something about Eric. He had to see him, he died so often and he'd said more than one time that he most often went to, to Heck, so... Clyde was right, though, we hadn't gone anywhere else in the four days, Earth days I guess, we'd been here, but I didn't want to go anywhere else. I wanted to go see if maybe Kenny was in the hospital room with the others. He hadn't been when I'd been on a little while ago, but maybe, maybe he was now.

It was sure nice of Clyde to offer. We'd never been really good friends; he had his group he hung out with, and I had Eric. Sometimes I wasn't sure if he liked me very much, even though he was never mean to me, just kind of, well, indifferent, I guess. Well, except for the times he asked me why I was with Eric. Clyde was one of the ones who just couldn't seem to understand it.

"You – you guys go ahead," I said, looking down at the clouds that made up the ground. I couldn't stand seeing him look so sad. "I think I might go – go back on the computer."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." I nodded. "But – but thanks for asking me to go. If I see – anything, I'll... I'll let you know."

"Thank you," Clyde said, so quietly I almost didn't hear him. I hated having to hear so much sadness in his voice. "Are you sure you'll be okay by yourself?"

I felt my eyes fill up with tears and I sniffled. Clyde was being so nice to me, even though he'd lost more than I had. I was glad he and Stan were here too, in a way; I didn't like that they'd had to die, and I didn't like that they were miserable, and apart from the people who meant the most to them, the way I was apart from Eric, but I was glad not to be alone. We weren't _good_ friends, but we were all friends, and it was just, well, it was better having Stan and Clyde than nobody at all.

"I'll – I'll be all right," I said, getting to my feet slowly. "I'll just, I'll be here whenever you guys get back."

"Well... Okay," said Clyde. "See you...later, then."  
"See you later," I echoed softly. I was still looking at the cloud ground, and I saw his feet as he turned and walked away. I wondered how long they would be, and how big Heaven really was. Maybe I'd go with them next time, I thought as I sat down in front of one of the computers and double-clicked the Google Earth icon. I typed Token's name into the search box, since his name was the one I had the easiest time spelling, and pushed enter.

The screen changed in seconds, and I leaned forward. I saw Token sitting up in his hospital bed, and Tweek lying down in his. Kyle was sitting on a chair between them. They all looked awful. I was pretty sure I could see Tweek crying. I blinked, and felt tears drip out of my own eyes, too. I reached up beside the computer monitor and picked up the set of headphones that were lying there. I slipped them onto my ears and turned up the volume a little bit.

Yup, Tweek was crying all right. I could hear him making little sad whimpering noises, like a sad puppy. He was shaking so much, every time I saw him twitch really suddenly I was worried that he was going to hurt himself. Poor Tweek, everybody knew how much he loved Craig, and Craig, well... As much as Eric told me all about how much of a jerk Craig was, he really cared about Tweek. I bit my lip as Tweek let out sort of a coughing-sob. He was one of the last people I would ever wish any bad things to happen to, and I didn't think it was fair that he didn't have Craig anymore to make him feel better. One of his arms flew into the air, smacking the little table near his bed, and I winced at the loud noise. That must have really hurt, it had sure sounded painful. I watched as Kyle and Token looked at each other, and then Kyle scooted his chair a little closer to Tweek's bed.

"Hey," I heard him say. He sounded a little better than he looked, but I knew that didn't really mean very much. Some people were better at sounding okay when they weren't than others. "Are you okay?"

"Nngh!" Tweek looked up at Kyle, and I leaned farther forward. The pictures came clearer on the computers up here than the ones back home, and I could see really well. Tweek's eyes were wide, and I could even see how red they were, like he'd been crying for, well, for as long as he'd been awake from his coma.

"Of course he's not okay." I leaned back in my chair a little and looked at the other side of the screen. Token was looking across the room at Kyle. He looked... He looked miserable and angry. I'd never seen Token look so mad, the look on his face almost scared me more than when Cartman got angry.

"I know..." Kyle said, and then he sighed. "I just meant... I don't want him to hurt himself, or anything."

Tweek started talking, so quietly I couldn't hear what he was saying, but by the time I'd managed to turn the volume up enough he'd gone quiet again. It looked like Kyle and Token hadn't heard him either though, they were both looking at him but not saying anything, like if they were quiet for long enough he would say it again. But he didn't, he didn't say anything else, he just kept lying there, shaking and twitching and crying.

I clicked the 'X' in the top corner of the screen, closing the window, and took the headphones off my ears. I couldn't watch them anymore, not now. Kenny wasn't there, that was really all I'd been looking for. I'd go back on later, maybe when Clyde and Stan got back. It was so hard for me to see Kyle, Tweek, and Token looking so sad when I was by myself. I felt really bad and selfish, but I wished Kenny had been there, so maybe I could hear something about Eric. I couldn't help it, I missed him so much. I shut my eyes and tried to imagine what Kenny might say about him, spinning my computer chair in slow circles as I thought.

They were kind of friends, Kenny and Eric. Well, Kenny and Cartman, I guess, were kind of friends. Eric didn't act like Eric around most people. Cartman would call Kenny names and make fun of him for being poor, and Kenny would yell things at Cartman, but when it came down to it, I felt like before Eric and I had started dating, Kenny and Cartman had been best friends. Sometimes I talked to Eric about Kenny, and he was nicer about him than Cartman was. I was pretty sure that if Kenny ever met the real Eric, they would get along really well. But Kenny had only ever known Cartman, and I didn't think that Eric would be Eric down in Heck, so if Kenny did come across him down there, he and Cartman would probably end up fighting. They fought a lot, except they were mostly fights about nothing, and they never really beat each other up or anything. Cartman would say something to Kenny about him being poor and laugh at him, and then Kenny would say something like—

"Well, where the fuck is he?"

I opened my eyes, instantly feeling dizzy, after spinning around as much as I had been. I'd thought for a second that I'd heard Kenny's voice, but I couldn't have... Could I? I stared at the ground while I waited for the dizziness to go away. Maybe I'd just been thinking so hard I'd heard his voice in my mind. Sometimes that happened to me, my parents had always told me I had an overactive imagination.

"He didn't tell me where he was going, just that he needed me at home for a little while."

Was Jesus in my imagination too? Why would I imagine Jesus talking to Kenny? I'd been thinking about Kenny and Cartman not Kenny and Jesus having a conversation. Slowly, because I was still feeling dizzy, I started to lift my head up.

"Fuck. I really needed to talk to him about it. You couldn't do it, could you?"

I saw Jesus first, walking away from where I was sitting, and then beside him, a bright orange parka. I felt my heart start to beat faster. The only person I'd ever known who had a parka that bright was Kenny. Kenny was here? He and Jesus had their backs to me, and I went to call out to him, but my voice caught in my throat a little bit and I coughed instead.

"I'm sorry, Kenny, but no. That is something you'll need to ask my father." I saw Jesus shrug. It was weird, seeing him shrug like that like he was just a normal person.

"I'd fucking ask him if he was here," I could hear Kenny mutter. "But you think it's good, right?"

I wondered what they were talking about, but then I thought about Eric and how Kenny was my only way of finding out how he was. That was more important than anything else right now. I took a deep breath and said, as loudly as I could manage, "K – Kenny?"

I saw Kenny stop and stand still for a second, and then he turned around slowly. He looked really mad about something. I watched his eyes move until they landed on me, and then all of the anger left his face completely, and he just looked really worried.

"Tell your dad, whenever he gets back, that I _really_ need to talk to him. Okay?" he said to Jesus. Jesus nodded, but I didn't think Kenny saw, because he was already on his way over to me.

"Butters," he said when he got to where I was sitting. He pulled out the chair for the computer next to me and sat down in it. "How are you doing, kid?"

There was always something about Kenny that made it so I couldn't lie to him. I couldn't even pretend to lie to him, it was always like he just brought out the truth in people. I sniffled, and my eyes filled with tears again. "I m – miss Eric," I said as I started to cry again. "I just w – want him to be here."

"He misses you too," Kenny said, softly. "If I could get him to you, Butters, you have to know that I would."

"C – can I go down to Heck to be with h – him?" I looked up, into Kenny's eyes. "Does – can that happen?"

Kenny sighed, a little, and shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said. "God, Butters, I'm so sorry, but things don't... That's not how things work here."

"B – but," I said, sniffling again and looking down at the ground. "But _why_?"

"Because you're too good for Hell," said Kenny, and I felt him rest one of his hands on my shoulder. "If there was any doubt, at all, that you belonged here, I would say that maybe there might be a chance. But, Butters, you... You've never done anything in your life that would land you in Hell."

"I wish I was a horrible person," I mumbled, watching as my tears dripped onto the clouds at my feet.

"Don't, don't say that." Kenny sounded like maybe he was going to cry too, and then I felt bad. I didn't want to make anybody cry. "Butters, you are one of the few genuinely nice, innocent people I have ever known in my life. In all of my existence, whether I've been alive or dead. I don't even think you could be horrible. And I know that Cartman wouldn't want you any way other than the way you are."

He was kind of right, I knew that. I didn't know if I could be a horrible person either, I cared too much about people to ever be mean to them on purpose. And Eric had told me more than once that he loved me because of that. But I still couldn't help wishing that I'd been different, that I'd somehow been bad enough to go to Heck instead of Heaven. I'd be with Eric right now...

"H – how is he?" I hiccupped. My head was still down. I couldn't look at Kenny or else I would start crying harder and then I wouldn't be able to hear him when he said anything.

"Cartman?" Kenny hesitated. "I think," he said finally. "I think he's feeling the same way you're feeling. He won't cry, or show that he's really upset or anything, but every so often I would look at him, and he would look completely miserable. I think as much as you're wishing you'd be a worse person, he's wishing he'd been a better one."

No, Cartman wouldn't cry. Not even Eric would cry, when I really thought about it. Eric was better at showing what he was feeling than Cartman, but it was still only me who ever cried at anything. I wished he was happier, that even though I was so sad and miserable, he was having a better time than I was. I didn't want him to be feeling so bad. But, still, at the same time, I had been a little bit worried that maybe he would have had a really good time down there and that he would forget me. I didn't want him to forget me, I wanted him to be happy but still miss me like I missed him. I didn't really know if that made sense, but it was what I felt, and I couldn't help feeling that way. I didn't know what else to feel.

"W – will you see him s – soon?" I asked.

"I don't know," Kenny said slowly. "I came up here to talk to God, but he's not here and Jesus doesn't know when he'll be back. So I guess I'll be here for awhile, until I can talk to him. And I promised Kyle, Tweek, and Token that I'd go back and see them when I got back down to Earth, but after that... Why? Did you want me to tell him something?"

I nodded. "C – could I write him a letter?" I lifted my head just enough to see Kenny nod back at me. "B – because I think I need to say more to him than y – you could say for me."

"I understand," said Kenny, and I thought that maybe he really did. "You have some time, I have no idea when I'll get to talk to God, so I won't be leaving anytime soon I don't think."

"Okay." I coughed a little and then leaned over so I could hug Kenny, for being so nice to me when he really didn't have to. "Th – thank you."

"Just let me know if there's anything else I can do," he said. "So, Stan and Clyde, are they around here too?"

"They went for a – a walk," I said, looking around me in case they were anywhere close, but they weren't. "They asked me to go, but I didn't – didn't really want to..."

"Do you want to go now?" Kenny asked. "It's okay if you want to stay here, I just really want to find them to see how they are, but I don't want to leave you alone..."

I thought for a minute. "No, I'll – I'll go," I said, standing up and carefully pushing my chair in. "I kind of want to – to look around up here too."

Kenny led the way, since he already knew his way around. He pointed out people he knew, the mall—I hadn't known Heaven had a mall—and a bunch of other things. I tried to keep everything straight, so I wouldn't forget what things were where.

After all, I was going to be here forever. I might as well learn as much as I could now.


	18. Without You: Tweek

"Hey."

I heard Kyle talk to me, but I couldn't answer him. I couldn't even look at him; I had no energy to lift my head. I stared down at my hands, watching them shake. My whole body was shaking, Christ, I was never going to be able to stop, I was going to shake like this for the rest of my life and everyone would see me as even more of a freak, and I wouldn't be able to defend myself, because I was a freak, I knew I was and everyone else knew I was and it was only because of Craig that they left me alone and now, oh God, Craig was gone. I couldn't stop crying, and, Jesus, I probably had some kind of virus that ate away at your insides like acid, I felt so sick. I didn't want this to be happening, this couldn't really be happening, not after everything that had happened already, not after last year. This couldn't be real...

"Are you okay?"

"Nngh!" I tried to say no, but the word came out a mess of gibberish. Somehow I managed to jerk my head up so I was looking at Kyle. He was watching me, the same way everybody watched me except for Craig, Token, and Clyde. Like I was crazy. Maybe I was crazy, Christ, I probably was, nobody else ever seemed to think the same way I did. God, I was so messed up. I wasn't just a freak, I was a crazy freak. That was the worst kind of freak, I knew it was, for all anybody knew maybe one day I would go so crazy I would start killing people. Jesus Christ, I didn't ever want to be that crazy but crazy people had no control over what made them crazy...

_Don't be stupid._ I heard Craig's voice in my head, telling me the same thing he always told me, every time I told him about how I was so afraid that I was going to end up insane. He'd always tell me not to be stupid, but he would be smiling so I knew he wasn't being mean, and he would tell me that it's the world that's crazy, not me, and if anybody ever made me feel crazy, he would kick their ass, even if that meant he had to fight with Clyde and Token. I hated fighting – what if someone got a concussion, or bled to death, or something? – but knowing that Craig would always be there to protect me from anybody or anything treating me like I was a freak or trying to kill me or – or anything, made me feel a little bit better. I told him, though, that I didn't want him to fight with anybody, especially not Clyde or Token. We were all friends, they'd been Craig's friends before Craig and I had even started talking, and I didn't want to be a reason for their friendship to end, oh God, I would have felt so bad if he'd stopped talking to them because he'd had fight them because they didn't want to even be around me...

But I could still remember the first time Craig had dragged me over to their lunch table and announced that I was eating with them. I'd been so scared, that one of them was going to say something about me, and Craig was going to get mad, and there was going to be a big fight in the cafeteria or something, but Clyde had just shrugged at me and kept eating his lunch, and Token had actually said hi to me, and the whole lunchtime had felt almost...normal. I'd wondered for a long time if Craig had threatened them or something, like if they weren't nice to me he would beat them up or something, but sometimes Clyde or Token, or both of them, would ask me to do something without Craig around, and I didn't think they would do that if they didn't like me, at least a little bit. I liked them too, Token was good to talk to about stuff, and Clyde was just a fun person to be around. He was good to talk to too, though, I'd found that out last year... I could see why Craig had been friends with them for so long.

Oh, God, Craig. I wrapped the blankets tighter around myself and whimpered, closing my eyes.

"Of course he's not okay," I heard Token say to Kyle. He sounded angry, but I could tell it was more than just that. Token didn't really get upset, he got angry. He had told me one time, one of the times it was just him and I hanging out, going birthday present shopping for Clyde – Craig was hanging out with Clyde to distract him and keep him away from the mall – that he thought it was easier to get angry than cry. And he wanted to cry right now, I knew he did. I wished I could talk to him, he'd been there for me so many times I felt like I owed it to him, but I couldn't, I didn't know what I would say to him. I couldn't make him feel better if I didn't feel better, and I didn't think I would ever feel better ever again. Craig was gone, he was the only person I felt safe with, the only person who ever made me really feel okay with being me, and he – Kyle had said he – was – after he'd promised...

"I know..."I heard Kyle say with a sigh. His voice sounded far away. "I just meant... I don't want him to hurt himself, or anything."

" _As long as I'm alive, you'll be alive too. Nothing can hurt you with me here. And I'm never going anywhere."_

I could hear him, I could _see_ him if I thought hard enough. He'd meant it when he'd said it, he'd really believed that he could somehow control death. I'd believed him as much as I could, because I did trust him, more than anybody else in the entire world. He'd promised, and he never broke promises, ever, not until now, Christ, I knew we shouldn't have gone, we shouldn't have gotten on that plane. Flying was so dangerous, I'd _said_ we would crash, and we _had_ , and – oh, God, no, Jesus, maybe I'd made it happen, maybe I'd worried about it so much it had actually come true. Maybe Craig being gone was all my fault, oh God, it was all because of _me_ , everybody but me, Token, and Kyle had died because of _me_.

"Why didn't I – oh, Christ, I sh – shouldn't be here, I shouldn't be alive, Craig should be here, everyone else should be here not me, I can't do th – this, I can't, I can't, I can't..." Without meaning to, I started rocking back and forth, talking to myself. I didn't care if anybody heard me, God, they _should_ hear me, they should know it was all my fault, if they knew they wouldn't want me here either, they would know that I should be the one who was dead, it should have been me, not Craig, not everyone else, _me_. Everyone else had something about them that was special, they were all important to the world, except for me, I was just – just me, Christ, there wasn't anything special about me, not when I thought about everybody else. Especially – I felt my whole body jerk to the left, another one of my freak-spasms – oh God, especially Craig, why had he even been with me, why hadn't he just stayed with Thomas last year? Thomas wouldn't have been so afraid of a plane crash that it would actually happen, nobody had been afraid except for me, and look what had happened, Christ, I was so - so _stupid_.

"Why didn't I die...?" I mumbled, my voice shaking as much as I was. "I should have – it should have been m – me..."

"Tweek, no."

I lifted my head as slowly as I could, pulling the blanket tighter around me. Kyle was staring at me; they both were, I could see Token out of the corner of my eye. Kyle was shaking his head ,like what I was trying to say to them was wrong, but he didn't _know_ , and I didn't want to explain it to him, oh God, I didn't want to explain it to either of them, they were going to hate me so much, almost as much as I hated myself right now, but I had to, he and Token both needed to understand.

"Y – ngh! – yes!" My entire body jerked forward as the word burst out of me and I started to cry, _really_ cry, again. "Y – you d – don't know – ghh! – it – I _did_ it, I m – made it _happen_ and now Craig's g – nrgh! – _gone_ and it sh – shouldn't _be_ like that!"

"You made what happen?"

I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn't want to look at Token when I answered his question, I didn't want to see the look on his face when he figured it out, that he'd lost Clyde because of me. He was one of my closest friends, one of the few people who had ever treated me normally, when he shouldn't have, because I _wasn't_ normal, I'd killed his best friend. And Kyle, oh, Jesus, I'd ruined his birthday present and taken away the most important people in _his_ life too, God, I wished I'd never woken up, I wished I'd stayed in that coma forever. "Th – the crash," I said, almost whispering. "It w – was – I was s – so afraid of it, it h – happened, if I was j – just – ngh! – normal it would have n – never... B – but it _did_ , I did it, I k – killed h – him, th – them, all of them." Uncrossing my arms and leaning my head on my hands, I mumbled, "Self-fulfilling pr – prophecy..."

"Tweek, no, you didn't."

I jumped when I felt weight on my shoulder, but after a second I realized it was just Kyle's hand. I shivered, and I could feel tears leaking through the spaces between my fingers.

"It wasn't your fault," Kyle said quietly. "None of this was anybody's fault, but especially not yours."

"B – but." I hiccupped. How could he not see that it _was_ my fault?

"He's right," I heard Token say. "It just happened, and it _sucks_ , but you didn't do anything." His voice was almost as sharp as Craig's got sometimes, when he was really trying to make me believe something. But not sharp in a bad way, not like he was angry at me, just really, really serious.

The same way Craig's voice had been when he'd promised me we weren't going to die...

"I d – ghh! – I don't know what to d – do." I shook my head back and forth. All I could see in my head was Craig, and it wasn't fair, that I could see him but not have him here, Christ, I couldn't take this, I was going to go insane and then I would get taken away and they would put me in a room all by myself because crazy people couldn't be around other people. But I didn't want to be crazy, I just wanted Craig...

"I know," Kyle said, still in that quiet voice. "But Tweek..." He paused, and then continued, "He... Craig wouldn't want you to blame yourself..."

I didn't understand why he was still being so nice to me, how he _could_ be so nice to me. I felt, God, I didn't even know if there were words for what I felt, but, but Christ, Kyle had to be feeling so much worse, even I knew that. How was he able to stay so calm, how was he not falling apart too? Jesus, if I was him I didn't think I would be able to do _anything_ , I didn't want to do anything _now_. He was right, though, I knew he was, about Craig, but even though I knew that Craig would have told me the same things Kyle and Token were telling me, I couldn't really make myself believe them.

I suddenly just felt tired, so tired, and I wanted to sleep; Kyle's hand slipped off my shoulder as I let myself fall backwards onto the mattress. Maybe if I slept the right way I could go back into a coma. I didn't want to be here if Craig wasn't here, I didn't want to have to live without him, and people in comas had dreams, didn't they? I could dream about Craig forever... Oh, Christ, but knowing me, knowing how stupid and freakish I was, my brain would probably make me dream a life without Craig so either way I would just end up miserable, but at least with a dream I didn't have to try to figure out how to live on my own, my dream self would make all the decisions for me, all I had to do was stay lying in a bed... Oh, God, that sounded so... That sounded so much better than having to live my life all on my own...

"...sorry."

I opened one of my eyes just a little, closing it again almost instantly. My eyes hurt, and the bright lights in the room just made it worse. "What?" I mumbled. It took a lot of effort to get the word out and even more to lift one of my arms to pull the blanket up higher. I was so cold all of a sudden, and I didn't know why. Was this what happened before a coma?

"Are you okay?" Kyle's voice sounded really far away.

"Tweek?' Token's did too, it was like they were talking to me from another room. Had they left? I hadn't seen them leave, but my eyes were closed, of course I wouldn't have seen them leave, but why would they have left in the first place? I wanted to tell them to come back, but I didn't think I would be able to be loud enough for them to hear me, but I should try anyway, just in case, shouldn't I?

"Don't." My voice was muffled, even to me, I sounded so strange, was that really how I sounded? Oh, God, I had a freak _voice_ too, Christ, how could anybody stand me? "Don't leave..."

"What did he say?" I heard Token say.

"I don't know." Kyle sighed, and I tried to talk louder, but I couldn't even get the strength to open my mouth. He kept talking, but I only heard a few words out of every sentence; his voice kept fading in and out, like when Craig would have a radio station on when we'd be in his room, but it wasn't coming in all the way and sometimes it would be really quiet and then all of a sudden it would play something really loud and scare me, and then Craig would just turn it off and make me feel better...

"I think...sleeping."

"Do...be okay?"

"...know...should call...parents...he's out...coma."

Their voices were getting so quiet; I waited for them to get louder again, like the radio, but they

didn't, they just kept fading, and getting quieter, and all I could hear was my own heartbeat, even though I shouldn't be allowed to have one anymore, because Craig didn't have a heartbeat anymore and he deserved one more than I did... He deserved so much more than I did, why...why was I still here...?

... ... ...

"N – nghh!" My own voice woke me up, my eyes flying open as I sat straight up. I was shaking so much it took me three tries to keep my blanket around me. I'd been dreaming about – about Craig, I knew that much for sure, but it was like the second my eyes were open and I could see the room around me, dark except for the digital clock glowing on the table between my bed and Token's, my dream disappeared. I didn't have to remember the dream to keep the feelings, though; my heart felt like it was going so fast it was going to shoot right out of my chest and across the room, oh God, what if it did, there would be blood everywhere and oh, Jesus, I _really_ didn't like blood. But – but if it was my heart, I wouldn't be alive to see the blood, but Kyle and Token would have to wake up to it and I didn't want that to be the first thing they saw in the morning. I had to make my heart go slower, but I didn't know how, I felt, oh God, I didn't even know what I felt but I knew it was bad and I knew it had been because of my dream.

I closed my eyes, twitching, and tried my hardest not to hyperventilate. Bits of my dream replayed themselves in my mind, not enough for me to be able to remember it completely, but enough so I could tell that it had been about Craig, and me, and we had been together, and it had been amazing. My eyes stung as tears filled them again and I wondered if I would ever be able to stop crying. It didn't feel like I would. That was the kind of dream that had been the reason I wanted to stay in the coma, just so I could pretend none of this had ever happened and that things were okay. Because they wouldn't be okay, not if I had to live here without him, if I was going to have dreams like that and have to wake up to the reality of not being able to be with the one person in the whole world who made me feel – made me _believe_ – I was worth something, anything...

"Oh, God," I whispered, my voice shaking. It hurt to talk. I could hear Token breathing beside me, and when I looked over at his bed, I could see Kyle sleeping on a fold-up cot on Token's other side. I wondered what they were dreaming, if they were dreaming about the people they'd lost. I lifted one of my shaking hands, wiping my eyes so I could see the numbers on the clock. Three thirty-nine. I didn't know what time it had been when I'd gone to sleep, but it didn't feel like I'd been asleep for long. I tugged on my hair with both hands, and tried to breathe. Was this how life was going to be for me? I didn't think I could do it, I _needed_ Craig, without him I wasn't – wasn't anything, I was just some freak who twitched like an idiot and drank too much coffee...

Coffee. I squinted at the table, at the mug sitting beside the clock. I reached over and picked it up, slowly bringing it closer to me. There was coffee in it, but it was cold coffee, and I couldn't drink cold coffee, coffee was supposed to be hot. I stared down at the liquid for a few seconds, trying not to shake so much I spilled it, and then I looked up, across the room to the counter with the cabinets. _Oh, Jesus, thank God._ There was a microwave.

Slowly, I slid out from underneath the blanket, shivering. It was so cold in this room, Jesus, the hospitals probably were part of some conspiracy, if they kept all their patients freezing cold maybe they would all get pneumonia and have to stay in the hospital longer and then they would owe the hospital more money and oh, God, that was so awful it was probably true. Somehow I managed to stand, and I stood, shaking, beside my bed for a minute while I tried to get up the strength to move. The microwave seemed so far away, but I needed coffee, I needed _hot_ coffee. I started moving in the direction of the counter, unsteadily. I almost tripped twice, but after what seemed like forever, I managed to make it to the counter without spilling any of the coffee. I pushed the button that would open the microwave, trying to be quiet so I didn't wake up Token or Kyle, and set the mug down carefully inside. Just as quietly, I shut the microwave door and set the time for fifty-five seconds.

The microwave hummed as it started heating up the coffee. I shivered again and sniffled. Oh, God, I was going to get so sick, my nose was running and I was so cold, and my throat hurt, Christ, maybe I was already getting pneumonia and the hospital conspiracy was already working against me. My eyes moved across the counter, looking for Kleenex or something else like Kleenex that I could use, stopping on a little white bottle. I couldn't see the label, but I didn't have to. I remembered Kyle pulling them out of the cupboard earlier. Caffeine pills.

It was almost like something else had control of my body, like I had gotten possessed or something. I picked up the bottle and stared at it. Caffeine. Caffeine was in coffee, caffeine was probably in my blood by now, I'd had so much of it over the years. I had been drinking coffee my whole life, ever since I could remember, I knew everything there was to know about it. I knew how much I needed to drink every day so I didn't go through caffeine withdrawals – oh, God, I hated the withdrawals, feeling the way I felt when I had them was so scary, Jesus. I knew all about caffeine withdrawals.

And I knew that mixing enough caffeine pills with coffee could be fatal...

The microwave started beeping, and I jumped, a squeak escaping me. I pushed the button on the microwave that would stop the noise and glanced over my shoulder. Kyle and Token were still sleeping. I held the little bottle of caffeine pills tightly in one hand, and the mug of coffee in my other hand, and shakily made my way back to my bed. I set the mug and bottle down on the table while I climbed back onto the mattress. I kneeled in the center of the bed, my eyes closed, and took a deep breath. This was my only way. This was the only thing I could do. I couldn't handle having to live my life without Craig. I couldn't, I just – I just couldn't. I couldn't guarantee that I would be able to put myself in a coma and never wake up, and waking up and _knowing_ that I would never see Craig again... That would be like going through it all over again, it would never get easier, I would never be okay, I couldn't ever be okay, not without him...

My head jerked to the right. My stomach was twisting, tears were streaming down my face, but I knew this was the way it had to be. I scooted forwards a little on the bed, and picked up first the bottle of caffeine pills, and then the mug of coffee. I unscrewed the cap on the bottle with one shaking hand, tipping it upside down, a pile of little blue pills falling onto the mattress. I scooped them up and brought my hand up to my mouth. With one last look at Kyle and Token, I said, quietly, my voice cracking, "I'm – I'm s – sorry..."

Closing my eyes, I tilted my hand, letting my entire handful of pills fall onto my tongue. In three gulps, the coffee was gone; I set the mug back onto the table, slid down so I was lying on my stomach, and waited.


	19. Don't Forget To Remember Me: Stan

"Stan?"

I looked up from the ground—or floor, I wasn't really sure; it was all made of clouds—where I'd been writing my thoughts onto the white surface with my finger. Not that anything I wrote, about how much I missed Kyle and how much I hated it here even though it was supposed to be paradise and all, actually stayed written on the clouds. I guess I was just tracing the words, really, but it was better than nothing, which was what I had; normally I used my John Elway journal for this kind of thing but I didn't have it up here. I didn't have anything to write my thoughts down in permanently up here. It wasn't until my eyes met Kenny's clear blue ones that I considered the fact that I could probably get a journal if I wanted one that badly. Being dead, as I'd found out, wasn't exactly the same as being inconvenienced. With the exception of, you know, the one inconvenience of being separated from my best friend and the person I'd finally admitted, to him and myself, to being in love with.

_Kyle..._ My fingers kept moving, kept tracing Kyle's name over and over, as I said, to Kenny, "Hey."

My own voice sounded strange, still; I still sounded as miserable as I had when I'd first figured out where I was, even after all the time I'd been here. Butters had said it had been almost a week down on Earth, and he should know; he was on the computers the most out of any of us. That was probably where he was now, but I wasn't sure. I knew that Clyde had gone to find something to eat. Kenny had told him about a place called Taco Loco. Apparently it was owned by Mitch Hedberg and it was supposed to be amazing, and since Clyde's love for tacos had never been a secret, it hadn't been that much of a surprise when he'd immediately gone off to find the place. He'd adjusted the best to being here but I couldn't help wondering if he'd completely accepted it yet. Clyde was a cool guy and everything, but he was really bad when it came to denial.

"How are you feeling?" Kenny sat down across from me. I shrugged, breaking eye contact and once again focusing on the words I was writing on the ground.

_Kyle, I miss you..._

"I'm mostly feeling like I wish I had your resurrection powers." I was aiming for an attempt at humor, but the truth in my statement hung in the air between us, heavy like a storm cloud.

Kenny sighed. "You really don't," he said. "They're really not as great as they might seem."

_I wish I could kill myself, but I'm already dead, and it's not fair..._ "But—" My voice caught in my throat and I took a couple of deep breaths before trying again. "But I'd get to see Kyle again," I almost-whispered, feeling the familiar sting of tears hitting the backs of my eyelids.

I heard Kenny inhale, like he was about to answer me right away, but he hesitated. He was silent for so long that I finally lifted my head to look at him. He was looking down, and even with his blond hair hanging in front of his eyes, I realized he'd been watching my hand move across the cloud too. I blinked, feeling strangely nervous. Had he been able to make out what I'd been writing? I wasn't sure if I wanted him to know I was feeling impossibly suicidal. He would be the best person to talk to about it, since it was a death thing and he was Kenny after all, but I was treating the clouds like a journal, and everything personal I'd even written in my _real_ journal was meant to stay secret.

"It wouldn't be worth it," he said finally, without moving his head. His voice was uncharacteristically hard, and I tilted my head, trying in vain to look past his curtain of blond hair, to see his eyes. "I know that probably sounds stupid to you right now, but believe me, I know all about resurrection. It's just not."

"I just..." I swallowed hard against the sudden lump in my throat. Thoughts of Kyle swirled around in circles inside my head, and I shut my eyes tightly, trying to turn off my brain. But closing my eyes just turned the thoughts into images, and the images into memories. Memories of the best times of my life, all the times I'd ever spent with my best friend in the world. Times that were gone forever, like our first campout in my backyard when my uncle Jimbo scared us to death by shooting a hole through the top of our tent because he thought he saw Chris Petersen—whoever the hell that was, we never did figure that out. Or like the time in middle school where we went on a field trip to the museum and Cartman got himself stuck in the T-Rex skeleton, and Kenny found spray-paint somewhere and he, Kyle, and I spray-painted Cartman so he looked like a French flag, just to piss him off. We hadn't even gotten in trouble for that, which was the best part; everyone else thought it was just as funny as we did. Well, everybody but Cartman, anyway, but the only things Cartman found funny were things that nobody normal would be remotely amused by, like Hitler, or entering the Special Olympics, or killing people he didn't like. He'd threatened to kill Kyle more times than I could count...

Oh, God, Kyle. I leaned forward, my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. I almost couldn't breathe, I felt so sick. My stomach clenched, and I bit my lip, doing my best to fight the pain. I felt like someone was ripping my insides apart with razors.

_I miss seeing you so much, I want to slice my eyes out with razorblades._

The words echoed in my ears, words I'd heard eight—no, nine—years ago, when we'd been in the fourth grade. Back before reality kicked in, when boys only liked girls and girls only liked boys; when the only things we knew about sex were the things we learned from Kenny, who learned them from God-knows-where; when the worst possible thing that could happen to a guy was his girlfriend's best friend walking over to him on the playground and telling him he was no longer part of a couple. It had all been so simple back then, even though at the time it had felt like everything was a life or death situation, and one wrong move would bring about the apocalypse.

That's how it had felt for me, anyway, without Wendy. We'd been together for what seemed like years, and when she dumped me, when she got _Bebe_ to dump me, without any kind of explanation, and none of the guys, not even Kyle, seemed to understand... Hanging out with the Goth Kids, with their depressing poetry, suicidal music and 'fuck you, you conformist world' attitudes just seemed right. Kyle definitely hadn't understood, I remembered with a pang. He'd gotten angry at me, told me I was being stupid and just running from my problems instead of facing them. He was right, when I thought about it now. I'd been using the Goth Kids as a shield; if I stayed with them, and let myself become one of them, I wouldn't get left again as long as I stayed non-conformist enough, and forced down enough coffee. I wouldn't have to face the world and everybody who couldn't grasp the extent of my misery. I'd really thought the Goth Kids understood me more than my best friend.

It was, what's her name...Henrietta, who'd said the words that were floating around in my head right now. I'd been reading a poem I wrote about Wendy, about how awful life was without her and how I just wanted her back with me. The Goth Kids took issue with it, telling me it wasn't Goth enough and I needed to change it to make it more miserable, and less conformist-sounding. Henrietta had suggested, 'I miss seeing you so much, I want to slice my eyes out with razorblades' instead of the original line I'd had. I didn't even remember what it was now, I just remembered not understanding how anybody could ever really feel _that_ bad, that losing their vision would be preferable to not being able to see someone. Nobody could ever be in that much pain if it wasn't physical, could they?

I had the answer to that question now. Yes. Yes, a person _could_ be in that much pain. I understood that now. I doubted that the Goth Kids had ever had to go through the kind of pain I was feeling. If I could go through my time up here blind, at least I wouldn't have to be constantly reminded that Kyle wasn't here. I could hide inside myself, with my memories, and pretend that he was with me, instead of having to use a stupid computer just to see him, looking miserable, and knowing there was nothing I could do to make his misery go away. And without him, there was no way my misery was going to go away either.

"I miss him so much, Kenny," I choked out, tears streaming down my face and dripping from my hands. With every word I spoke, I felt my stomach twist more. "I don't know what to do." And then, for the second time in my life—for the first time in my death—I let my mouth move before my brain. "I _love_ him."

The only difference between this time and last time was how I felt about my sudden inability to keep things to myself. When I'd blurted out the very same thing to Kyle, I'd wanted to die of embarrassment right there in his bedroom. Even after we'd talked for those few minutes, and it had been proven that Kyle really was the amazing guy I thought he was, since he didn't immediately run screaming from the room at my admission. In fact, it had actually seemed like he could have felt the same way—wasn't that what he'd said? _"If things were different..."_ But things weren't different, there had been someone else—Christophe, I thought with a sudden sharp pang—and I still wished every day that I could take back those three seconds where I told my Super Best Friend something he should never have heard. Something I never should have said.

But with Kenny, now, I wasn't sure if it was because I trusted him not to be an asshole or because at that moment I was so horribly miserable, but I just didn't care what happened anymore. I didn't care who knew all my personal secrets. I opened my eyes just in time to see him shake his blond hair out of his face. His expression looked like a combination of unhappiness, confusion, and guilt; although, I didn't know why he would feel guilty about my telling him I was in love with my best friend. He opened his mouth, but I held up one of my shaking hands before he could say anything.

"I'm—I _was_ in love with him." I took a deep breath. My voice was shaking almost as much as my hands. "I'm not trying to pretend this is church and I'm confessing things to you, but I think you should know. I think I should have told you when I wasn't dead, but I didn't want Kyle to find out and have it fuck up our friendship. But I did." For some reason, everything that had been going through my head in my time up here was spilling out of me. With every word I said, I felt a little bit lighter. Not _better_ , just less like I was the only one trying to hold up a mountain. "I told him at his party. I didn't mean to, it just came out when we were upstairs in his room. And he basically told me no. That's why I've been so fucked up, that's why I've been just as upset as Butters. I didn't just lose my best friend. I lost the person I love, and I didn't even get the chance to see if we would _have_ a chance—" I stopped in the middle of my sentence, clamping my mouth shut against the sobs that were fighting to come out.

"I know," Kenny said softly. "I could tell. I don't mean to be an asshole, but with things like this, you're not...the best at keeping secrets. Not from me, anyway," he added, with a half smile that made it clear he was trying to lighten the mood. But this wasn't a mood that could be lightened anytime soon. "Kyle didn't know, though. Not until you told him. So don't worry. He wasn't aware of your feelings and just ignoring them, or anything like that."

That, right there, was the reason Kenny was such a good friend, and why the poor kid from the other side of the tracks had more friends than anybody else I knew. He kept secrets, and he understood people—he could get right inside their heads and know exactly how they were feeling and why. Sometimes it was creepy, especially back in junior high when Craig and Clyde would have parties and we would play stupid games of truth or dare and Kenny could always tell when somebody was lying. It was nice, now, though, to have someone just _get_ me without me having to explain everything. My brain was screwed up enough; I really didn't think it could handle overly detailed explanations.

"He—" The word got caught in my throat, and I coughed. "He should have ignored them."

"Kyle's not like that, and you know that," Kenny told me just as my inner voice yelled the same thing at me.

"Just this once it would be nice," I mumbled. "He wants Christophe, did you know that too?" I wasn't surprised when Kenny nodded, but my stomach reacted in its own painful way. Part of me had been hoping, still, that I was wrong and that Kenny knew the real object of Kyle's affections. But, no, of course it was Christophe. Wincing, I continued, my voice dull, "He didn't tell me that, I figured it out. And he didn't give me a flat out rejection, he said if things were different then maybe, but it means the same thing, doesn't it?" I shook my head, wishing I had longer hair so I could hide my eyes. "Even if I was still alive, what chance would I have? I can't compete with a French fucking mercenary. "

"You don't know if 'Tophe feels the same way about him," Kenny said after a few seconds. His tone was less certain than usual, but I was more focused on what his words were, not how he said them.

"How could he not?" I demanded. "It's Kyle. Who wouldn't give anything in the world to be with Kyle?" In a whisper, I added, "God knows I would."

Kenny didn't answer me. He just sat there, completely silent, and somehow, that was exactly what I needed. I didn't need to talk about how I felt anymore, but I didn't want to be left by myself again while my brain went off and started playing memories of Kyle on my internal movie screen. Having someone just be there, hanging out in the clouds with me, was at least a reminder that I wasn't alone, I did have friends here. And that even though they may not necessarily be who I wanted so desperately for them to be, they were friends. For now, that had to be enough. Maybe eventually, one day, I would feel better. Maybe. I doubted it, but nothing would really tell but time. And I wasn't exactly having a shortage of that.

I didn't know how long we were sitting there for. It could have been just a few minutes, or it could have been a few hours, I had no way of telling. I'd gotten so lost in remembering all my times with Kyle, and so used to the quiet, that I jumped when I heard, "Hey, guys," from above me, on my right. I lifted my head up to see Clyde standing there, holding a half-eaten taco and a paper bag. The side of the bag said Taco Loco, and there was a picture of a taco with legs standing next to a hurricane. It almost looked like the form the alien had taken, the last time Kyle, Kenny, Cartman and I had found our way into outer space...

"Hey, Clyde," Kenny said. "Did you bring us ice cream?"

I looked away from the bag, at Kenny, who gave me another half-smile and a small nod. So he saw the resemblance too. I felt a sudden rush of appreciation for him, for the fact that a lot of my best memories involved him, too. He might not be my Super Best Friend, but I was starting to realize that Kenny was more than just my good friend with the orange parka and serious empathetic skills who could die and come back. He was closer to being my best friend—not Super, just regular—on Earth than anybody else, and he was definitely the best friend I had in Heaven. Somewhere inside myself, I found a tiny half-smile too.

"Huh?" There was a rustling as Clyde sat down in between me and Kenny, putting the paper bag in the middle of our triangle.

"Inside joke," Kenny answered, with a one-shoulder-shrug at me. He nodded at Clyde's taco. "How's that?"

"Jesus," Clyde said, the word coming out, 'Gee-juss,' due to the fact that he'd just crammed half of the half of the taco in his mouth. He swallowed, and then continued, "This is the most amazing taco I've ever had."

"Yeah, Mitch makes good tacos," Kenny said offhandedly.

"I can't believe you never said you knew him before now," said Clyde, shaking his head. "I mean, seriously, I would have made you get me an autograph or something for Craig's birthday. That would have been the best present ever for him. And it would have saved me a week." He finished off the taco before adding, "He's so hard to shop for."

"It took you a week to get him a present?" Kenny grinned at him. "Dude, I got him a pack of cigarettes on my way to his house."

"Yeah, well," Clyde said defensively, his face turning slightly red. He shoved the paper bag further into the middle of the three of us and said, "I brought you guys tacos too, if you're hungry."

"You didn't eat them all?" Kenny reached forward and dragged the bag towards him.

"I had six when I was there. There should be six in there too," Clyde answered. "I might go back later, if you two and Butters eat those."

"I don't think I'm very hungry," I said. "Thanks, though, dude."

Clyde bit his lip, and for a minute he looked like he was having a war with himself before he said, tentatively, "You okay?"

"I'm—" I started to reply with my standard, 'I'm alive,' before I realized that I couldn't say that anymore. "I'm...you know," I said instead. Clyde nodded twice, and just for a second, there was something in his eyes that made me wonder if maybe he hadn't adjusted as well as I thought he had. It was a kind of deep, inner sadness. He'd always been awful when it came to denial; maybe Clyde was just better at hiding inside himself and letting himself run on autopilot. I didn't think I'd ever be able to do that, especially considering the situation. I just didn't have it in me to convince myself it wasn't real.

There was something else about Clyde, about how he'd mentioned Craig just now, and how much he'd talked about him up here, that made me wonder if maybe the brunet next to me was in denial about more than just his own death. If I was right, if Clyde was having any kind of more-than-platonic feelings for Craig, then I couldn't help but be worried about him, even through my own misery. I wondered if Kenny knew, and decided to ask him later. If Kenny thought Clyde had a thing for Craig, then it was probably true. I'd never known Kenny to be wrong before.

" _You don't know if 'Tophe feels the same way about him."_

Kenny's words from earlier played on repeat in my head. In all honesty, no, I _didn't_ know. I knew it shouldn't matter now; of the three of us, Kyle was the only one still alive. But somehow, the thought that maybe I would have actually had a shot if I hadn't died in that plane crash made me feel a little bit better. If I had a chance, that meant Kyle cared about me _that_ much. If he cared about me like that, that would mean he missed me right now as much as I missed him. I didn't want him to be hurting, I would give everything I had to make Kyle's pain go away. But the selfish part of me that, when I'd still been alive, had wanted to punch Christophe in the face and tell him that Kyle was _mine_ , kept telling myself that as long as Kyle missed me that much, he wouldn't forget me, Stan Marsh, his, at the very least, Super Best Friend. Call it horribly selfish, call it awful, call it whatever you want. I just called it truth.

I never wanted Kyle to forget me.


	20. Bittersweet Symphony: Craig

Kenny had said that there were ten times the amount of people in Heaven down here, and as I sprinted down the one and only road Hell had, rocks crunching underneath my shoes, I thanked Christ for that. There were people _everywhere_ , and normally that would piss me off, but right now they were just what I needed to get away from _them_. I didn't even give a fuck about having to do all kinds of retarded twirls and shit just to avoid running into people—not that I cared about hurting anybody. If I knocked anybody over, that would just slow me down, and I couldn't afford that.

I cast a quick look over my shoulder, but all I saw was a wall of people. Good. If I couldn't see them, they probably couldn't see me. That gave me more time. I faced forward again, jumping over a homeless person—yeah, even in Hell—begging for change just in time to avoid tripping over the idiot, and ducking as some lady's elbow came flying at my face. Okay. _Now_ these people were pissing me off. I squinted through the crowd, scanning the sidewalks on either side of the road for somewhere I could go. Up ahead on the left, between a shoe store and Hot Topic, I could just make out a small alley. Sweet. That would work. I lowered my head and took off, barrelling through all of the retards in my way, diving into the alley and landing hard on my knees.

"Fuck," I muttered, scrambling to my feet. Goddammit, that had hurt. I half-limped my way down the alley to the back of the Hot Topic, where I leaned against the side of the building, trying to catch my breath and trying not to breathe audibly at the same time. Jesus fucking Christ, my lungs felt like they were on fire. Instinctively, and for the millionth time, I reached into the pocket of my jeans for a cigarette, not remembering until my fingers grabbed only air, that I didn't have any. I'd been relying on Christophe to fuel my nicotine addiction for the past however long it had been, and he, and all of the cigarettes I so desperately needed, weren't here now.

"Goddamn fucking fatass," I hissed to myself, kicking the wall of Hot Topic with the heel of my foot. It was all thanks to fucking Cartman that Rob Reiner and his army of anti-smokers had cornered Christophe and taken him away, to one of their stupid meetings. The three of us had just been hanging out in the mall, together but not. Christophe and I had been smoking, and—in my case, anyway—thinking. I couldn't stop thinking about Tweek...my Tweeker. I had so many unanswered questions. How was he? Was he okay? Was anybody taking care of him like I would? Nobody could take care of him like I would, but was anybody even trying? Kenny had promised to tell me everything he could when he got back, but that had been forever and twelve fucking days ago. I fucking hated this whole thing with not-knowing, and not being able to do anything about it. All of this stressing and worrying and general feeling-like-shit put me a little on edge, and all that had been keeping me going were those cigarettes of Christophe's.

Cartman had just been sitting there glaring at us like we were ruining his very existence. I guess on some level, being an obnoxious retard was his way of coping with being separated from Butters, but seriously. That was all he'd been doing ever since Kenny had left us by ourselves that first day, and honestly, it was starting to really piss me off. He couldn't just admit that he felt like shit; that would be too human for him. Even _Christophe_ showed emotion, and if I'd ever doubted Tweeker's assessment that our Frenchy had an intense thing for our Jew, the mercenary's behaviour now was more than proof enough that my caffeine-addicted blond was more observant than most.

I doubted he'd ever admit it if I called him on it—more than likely he would yell something at me in French and refuse to give me any cigarettes for at least a couple hours—but I'd seen him shed more than a few tears when he thought nobody was watching him. That was another thing—Christophe had lost his ability to really be a skulking, nearly-invisible nonentity of a human being. Everything that had made him the incredible, great fucking mercenary he was supposed to be was gone, which was, I thought, the only reason I managed to catch him crying at all. If the situation was different, like if we weren't really fucking dead, I would probably rip on him for it. In fact, I'd been going to; I'd decided _that_ as soon as I'd realized that Christophe wanted a Jew toy to play with. Because it wasn't just being in Hell and away from Kyle that had been draining Christophe's skills. It had been happening for a long time, months at least, just slowly, so that I only noticed it now, when I looked back. Christophe, at the pace of a hungover snail on its way to work, had been turning human because of one redheaded Kyle Broflovski.

So I guess in some way, that made the plane crash Kyle's fault, if I wanted to be an asshole about it. If Christophe hadn't been distracted by whatever made Kyle so appealing to him, he probably would have had his head screwed on a little tighter and he would have been able to actually fight whoever the fuck had the jewels or whatever. Instead, he'd been fantasizing about a Jewish party for two and he'd gotten us all killed. So yeah, if I wanted to blame Kyle I could, but I just didn't see the point. It would make more sense for me to blame Christophe; I could hate him more than usual, for all of fucking eternity. It was tempting, I won't lie, and nobody would be able to dispute the fact that I would be right. But honestly, what the fuck was pointing fingers going to do down here? Absolutely fucking nothing. It wouldn't get me back up to Tweeker, and it _definitely_ wouldn't get him down here—not that I wanted him down here; if my little blond twitcher was going anywhere other than Earth, I wouldn't ever want it to be here—so I might as well just suck it the fuck up.

Smoking was the one thing that made sucking it up just a tiny bit easier. The tobacco couldn't make me forget Tweeker, or the fact that I would never see him again, and it couldn't make me feel less fucked up, but, again, it took the edge off. That was all I could ask for. But of course, of fucking _course_ , Cartman had a problem with it, and he'd picked today, of all days, to make some comment about how Christophe and I were disgusting tobacco fags. I'd just flipped him off, like I always did, and it would have ended there if he'd had one ounce of intelligence. It was Cartman, though, so naturally he had to keep things going by saying, "If you were so willing to kill yourself with cancer sticks, maybe you didn't care about that spaz that much after all."

I lost it when he said that. _Nobody_ , especially not fucking Eric Cartman, questioned whether or not I cared about Tweeker. I would do _anything_ for him, and for a fucking fatass to tell me I didn't care because I had _one_ stupid addiction—which, by the way, I'd been on the verge of quitting _for_ Tweek—pissed me off more than anything had ever pissed me off in my life. I couldn't think straight enough to tell him to fuck off, or to say anything back to him at all, so I did the next best thing: I leapt at him and started beating the hell out of his fat ass for at least ten minutes. When I finally let up, just for less than a second to push my hair out of my face so I could see enough to keep going, the stupid asshole yelled about how Christophe and I were smoking and wasn't there no smoking in Hell, and weren't we supposed to be on our ways to one of our lectures right now?

I'd stopped in mid-punch, my fist inches away from Cartman's face, and turned my head sharply, meeting Christophe's eyes. That was when Rob Reiner's anti-tobacco army had literally come out of fucking _nowhere_ , and grabbed Christophe. He'd put up a hell of a fight, and I'd seen, for the first time, evidence that he actually _was_ intimidating, and maybe he'd been in the right line of work after all. But at the same time, I saw more evidence that his obsession with Kyle had left him as only half the mercenary he used to be, as four of the anti-smoking advocates overpowered him and took him away. The rest had turned to me, and Cartman had laughed his triumphant asshole laugh. I'd been frozen for another half of a second, and then, with one last punch to the side of Cartman's head, I threw my burning cigarette at him and took off as fast as I possibly could.

"I think he went this way!"

"Hurry up, then, it starts in ten minutes and I don't want to have to run the projector _again_!"

I flattened myself against the wall, holding my breath. Fuck. I knew those voices. Cheryl and Vince, two of Rob Reiner's zombie smoking Nazis. As fucking _if_ they'd managed to get past all the people that fucking fast. I heard the crunch of shoes on gravel, way too fucking close for comfort. Closing my eyes, I screamed at the anti-smoking retards with my mind, willing them to just fuck off. _Just fucking go. There's nothing here, you're retards, you don't have time to look for me and get back to your precious cult meeting. Don't fucking find me._ Keeping my arms pressed tightly against either side of me, I flipped them off with both hands. Somehow, even though neither of the two of them could see my nonverbal insult, the action made me feel just slightly better. Some things never change.

It couldn't have been more than two minutes, but it felt like I'd gone through six lifetimes before I heard Cheryl say, "Maybe he went a different way."

I bit my tongue to keep my snort of laughter inside. I didn't want to jinx it, but neither one of them had even _tried_ to look around the corner of the building. If they had, it wasn't like I had anywhere to go. They would have been able to proudly bring back another tobacco fiend to their almighty leader Rob Reinfucker. But I'd been counting on them being just that stupid, and thank Christ that they were. I couldn't believe that these were the same idiots who'd managed to drag a kicking-and-screaming-French-shit Christophe away.

"Where?" Vince paused for a second, and I could just see the gears in his brain trying desperately to keep moving. "You think he's in Hot Topic?"

Yeah fucking right. I wouldn't set foot in a Hot Topic _ever_. This time I bit my tongue so hard I tasted blood. Making a face, I resisted the urge to spit it out, but I didn't much want to swallow it either; my stomach churned its agreement. I looked up at the bright red sky and willed the Reinoholics once again to just fucking go away.

"We don't have time to check." Cheryl sounded frustrated. Well, good, at least I pissed her off. "We only have five minutes to get back."

I heard Vince sigh. "Come on, then, let's go. We'll just have to get him next time."

There was more crunching noises as they walked away. I stayed frozen in place for another few minutes after I couldn't hear them anymore, just in case. They were stupid, yes, but it was pretty standard amongst even idiots that if you wanted to try to lure someone out of a hiding place, one of the easiest ways to do it was to pretend to leave. Then, when your target went to go on his merry way, you could catch him off guard. It was only in almost every movie I'd ever seen.

After a few minutes, I figured they'd really left, on their way back to go catch the riveting lecture of the day. _'Don't smoke, it's bad for you, you're already dead so I can't threaten you with how it will kill you, but I can still bitch at you like a retard. Don't question me! Relinquish your cigarettes, or be forever doomed!'_ I'd had to sit through that one—my only one—my first day here. Christophe and I had done a pretty damn good job of avoiding the lectures every other day. Except today.

I spit my mouthful of bloody saliva on the ground and muttered, "Fuck." I ran both hands through my hair, wishing I had my hat. God only fucking knew where it was, though. It'd probably burned to a cinder when the plane hit the ground. By that logic, I shouldn't even have my clothes, but here I was wearing the same black T-shirt and jeans I'd been wearing that day. It was just my hat that the universe had decided I didn't need anymore. Well, fuck the universe. I loved that hat. I didn't love very many things; in fact, there were three that I would admit to: my hat, Red Racer—best fucking TV show ever—and Tweeker.

I slid down the side of the wall, barely feeling it as I thunked to the ground. God, I missed him so much. I wanted Kenny to hurry up and get his ass back here so he could tell me what was going on. I didn't think I could last much longer without having some idea how things were back home. With everyone back home, but especially Tweek. And Token. All I knew was that they were alive. That was it. I couldn't stand the fact that I knew so little. I wished there was some way I could go back, even if it was just as a ghost and nobody could see me, at least I would fucking _be_ there. At least I'd be able to see things. Who knows, maybe Tweek would even be able to see me, there was no telling what all that caffeine had done to him. If he saw gnomes and closet monsters, maybe he could see a ghost version of me. Who did I talk to about trading in my real body for wisps of smoke?

I leaned forward, resting my head on my knees. I was getting a headache but I couldn't stop thinking. Would Tweek even trust the ghost of me? Or would he just think that I was trying to fuck with him? No... No, he would probably be _afraid_ , he would probably be scared to death and think that I was evil or something, or that I was trying to kill him. Fuck, I couldn't handle that, I could _not_ handle Tweek being _scared_ of me. There was really no way that I was going to get to see him again, was there? No way that I would be able to talk to him and have him hear me, no way to touch him... Never. Ever again. This was death. Death was permanent. It was a forever kind of thing.

_Not for Kenny, of course,_ I thought bitterly, feeling myself start to shake in anger, misery, and maybe just a little bit of desperation. No, death wasn't a permanent thing for Kenny. He could do whatever the fuck he wanted and never die forever. I would fucking _kill_ for that ability right now. And the really fucked up part of it was that Kenny didn't even seem to appreciate his, for lack of a better word, talent. He didn't ever say anything out loud, but whenever we were all hanging out and somebody made a comment about him dying or whatever we said, he got this look. This kind of, 'ha, yeah, whatever, I'm a pussy who can't handle the fact that I have this amazing ability to never have my heart broken because if I died in a plane crash I could just come right back and never have to be without the one person I love most in the whole fucking goddamn world' kind of look. Like dying and coming back was something to be ashamed of.

For fuck's sake, if I had that power right now, I would use to it go back home to Tweeker and then I'd have a talk with whoever the fuck was in charge of these things, and I would make them lend my power to Clyde so he could come back too, and then the four of us would all be together again and I'd make sure to spend more time with all of them and not just hole myself up with Tweeker 24/7. Not that I wanted to spend less time with just Tweek, fuck, I would have spent my whole life just Tweek if I could have. But honestly, Clyde had had a point when he'd said he never saw me anymore. Token saw me more than Clyde did, but not _that_ much more. Tweek and I had been ditching the two of them for each other for the past year, and it wasn't until right now, when it was too late to do anything about it, that I really realized how much I'd missed out on. Like video games. Tweek wasn't really that enthusiastic about any video games, which was totally fine with me; we had other ways of spending our time. If I wanted to play a video game, I'd go to Clyde's or Token's; at least, I'd used to. It suddenly hit me that I knew next to nothing about anything recent that had happened in the lives of the two other members of my gang. The trip to New York was going to be the first time in a year that I would have had enough time with the two of them to really hang out and play games and have things be the way they used to be.

And now I was here, Clyde was in Heaven, while Tweek and Token were the only ones out of us that had beaten the odds. I had nobody. Okay, so I had Christophe, but all we really did was hang out and smoke. And Cartman was here, but who the fuck would ever see that as a good thing? Butters, maybe, but Butters was up with Clyde. Goddammit, why was I such a fucking asshole all the time? At least if I'd somehow weaseled my way into Heaven I'd get to hang out with Clyde. I wondered how he was, and if he was pissed at me for ignoring him for so long. Tweek was my boyfriend but Clyde was still my best friend. I wondered if he knew. Probably not, since he'd barely seen me for so long. Some best friend I was. Jesus.

Fuck. Why had it taken death to make me see all this shit? Was I really that much of an ignorant asshole that I couldn't pay enough attention to my life when it was actually happening? Sniffling—I hadn't realized I was crying, but there you go, I was a wuss—I mumbled, "I'm a retard."

My words almost drowned out the sound of shoes on gravel. Almost. I straightened up, pulling my legs closer to me and scrunching against the wall as quickly and quietly as I could. Shit, maybe Cheryl and Vince hadn't left after all. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, sniffling again. For some reason I put my hands out in front of me like a fucking zombie, like that was the best defence I had against anti-smokers. Tears dripped down my face again, but I just didn't fucking care enough anymore. If the anti-tobacco Nazis thought I was a pussy, they thought I was a pussy. Whatever.

More footsteps. Slow footsteps, which was weird. Normally Rob Reiner's morons raced around like retards; they didn't take their time. Maybe it wasn't them. Who else would it be? Cartman? God, I fucking hoped it was Cartman so I could kick his ass some more for starting the whole thing in the first place. I waited, as alert I could be with watery eyes impairing my vision.

One foot came around the corner first, and the instant I saw the white sock with small coffee mugs printed on it, my whole body went cold. Only one person I knew had socks like that. I'd _bought_ him socks like that. But he couldn't be here. That didn't make sense. Slowly, my eyes moved up as the rest of the person came into view. Coffee-colored cargo pants; the dark green shirt I'd made him buy because it made his eyes look that much greener, and fuck, I loved his eyes... Those eyes, almost hidden by his unruly bright blond hair, that were moving so quickly now, taking in all of his surroundings. He looked terrified, and who wouldn't? But that wasn't the most important question right now. No, the most important question, the one that was echoing in my brain, faster and faster with each passing second was: what is he _doing_ here?

"Tweek...?" My voice cracked, but I didn't care. I didn't want to move in case this was just a mirage. Maybe Rob Reiner had something that could fuck with peoples' brains by making them see what they wanted to see most.

Tweek froze on the spot, less than eight feet away from me. I could see him shaking like crazy, and when he turned his head in my direction, his eyes were closed. "C – C – Craig?" He spoke so quietly I wasn't sure he even spoke at all, and that he hadn't just mouthed my name and my mind had filled in his trembling voice on its own. Slowly, his eyes opened and met mine, and in that second, I knew he was real. Nothing Rob Reiner came up with could create a Tweek like this. This was my Tweeker, my Tweeker who was supposed to have survived the plane crash. Maybe Kenny had gotten it wrong, maybe it was someone else who had lived. It obviously hadn't been Tweek; he was right in front of me.

I started to stand, still leaning against the wall for support. But why was he _here_? If Kenny had been wrong, if Tweek hadn't actually survived, what the fuck was he doing in Hell? He'd never done anything to land him here, by all logic he should have gone to Heaven. For the moment, though, I told my brain to just fuck off. I needed to just be selfish for a few seconds, and focus on Tweek being here, on the fact that I wasn't alone anymore.

"Tweeker." I stumbled forward, almost losing my balance. He stayed where he was, shivering, but when my outstretched arm hit his shoulder, he fell forward, collapsing onto me. I wrapped my arms around him and rested my head on top of his, my tears now dripping into his hair.

"I – I c – couldn't – be there without y – you – I needed – I – oh, God, Craig!" He was talking into my shoulder so fast I could barely understand him. But that was okay.

"Shh, Tweeker, shh," I whispered, holding him tighter. "It's okay, I'm here. It's okay. You don't have to tell me anything yet, we can just stay here for a little while."

For now, just standing there behind Hot Topic from Hell, with the most important person in my life in my arms, was enough.


	21. Deny: Butters

_Dear Eric,_

_It's me, Butters. Kenny said he would get this to you. That was real nice of him. He seems to care a lot that I miss you so much. Stan and Clyde (they're here too, in Heaven, but Kenny said he told you that already) and I don't really talk much. Stan misses Kyle a whole lot, I think. He doesn't do very much except sit and look sad. I wish there was something I could do for him, to make him feel better. But I don't know if there's anything I could say. And Clyde doesn't seem to be around us long enough to talk to him. He keeps going for walks around Heaven. He says it's because he gets restless, but he always looks so tired and sad, kind of like how I think I must look most of the time. I know I sure don't feel good. I miss you. I don't like that I'm here and you're not._

_I cried a lot, when I first got here. I just didn't want it to be real. I miss you so much, Eric. It's not the same, being without you. I feel so alone, all the time, like some part of me that should be here isn't where it should be. I just feel so wrong..._

I stared down at the notebook I had in my lap, up at the computers across the cloud from me, and back down at my notebook. That didn't sound right, what I'd just written. It sounded too sad, and I didn't want to make Eric feel bad about me being so sad. Especially since there was nothing he could do to help me, just like there was nothing I could do to help him. I didn't understand that, why I couldn't just go be with him. In church they'd always said that God was fair, and that He would always do what was right. This sure didn't feel right, being without Eric. It just wasn't _fair_ , darn it! Shouldn't God be able to fix it so it was fair, and just let Eric up here to be with me? He wasn't that bad of a person. He'd used to be pretty mean, even to me back when we were little kids, but he'd been getting so much better. Even the other guys had noticed, as much as they'd kept trying to convince me I shouldn't be with him because he wasn't good for me... I'd heard them talking when they didn't think I was listening to them, and even Craig had said more than once that Eric had changed since he and I had been together.

But – but even if God didn't have the power to get Eric to come here, He should be able to send me down – down _there_ , to Heck, where Eric was. I wouldn't mind being down there; Kenny went there all the time and he seemed all right. All the stories he would tell us about Satan weren't even that scary; they never gave me nightmares or anything. And by the sounds of it most of the people down in Heck were perfectly friendly, they just hadn't been very nice people in their lives. I could live with people like that, they were just like regular people, I thought. Regular people weren't nice _all_ the time. According to Kenny, the only person anybody should really be scared of, or careful of, was Damien, but I'd've known that even if he hadn't made a point of telling all of us. We'd all seen what Damien could do, back in third grade when he'd come to warn us all about Satan coming to take over. _He_ would give me nightmares, but as long as I had Eric with me, nothing like that would matter. Eric would protect me from Damien.

I bit my lip, and reread my letter to him one more time before tearing it out of the notebook and folding it up into a little square. I put it down on the cloud beside me, on top of two other folded squares of paper. I'd been trying to write Eric this letter for what felt like forever. I just couldn't get it to sound the way I wanted it to. I didn't want to sound too unhappy and make him feel bad, but I didn't want to lie to him either and pretend I was happy. He'd know I was lying anyway, probably; he knew me better than anybody. But if he didn't, and if I sounded like I was having a great time up here, I was worried that he would think that meant that I didn't need him, or miss him, but I _did_ , and I wanted him to know that, but every time I started to try to tell him, it all sounded wrong. I slid the notebook and pen off my lap and rested my head in my hands. Being without him was so hard... I'd never felt this bad before, not even in the middle of getting a talking-to from my dad. It was like every little bit of happy I had ever known was just gone, and there was a big empty hole inside me where Eric should be. My eyes filled up with tears again and I felt my hands start to shake. It just wasn't _fair_.

"Hey... Butters?"

Sniffling, I lifted my head and blinked, making the tears fall, to see Clyde standing above me, holding a paper bag with both hands. It didn't really look like he was looking at me, more like he was looking at the ground near me, but I understood. I had a hard time looking everybody in the eyes too; it just made me even sadder to really see how upset they were.

"H – hey there, Clyde," I mumbled, wiping my eyes with my shirt and staring at his shoes so I didn't have to look at his face. They were real nice shoes, nicer than any shoes I'd ever had. I glanced down at the ones I was wearing, just plain white sneakers. Clyde's were black with rainbow laces, and they even had his name on them. He was so lucky that his dad owned a shoe store; he probably got discounts on everything. At least...he probably _had_ gotten discounts on everything, until...

I shut my eyes tightly and tried my hardest not to let myself start really crying. My whole body was shaking now, not just my hands. It had just hit me that Clyde probably wouldn't ever get special treatment when it came to shoes ever again. Just thinking about that made me _really_ sad. Clyde _loved_ shoes...

"Um, I got – " Clyde started to say, then coughed, a really dry painful –sounding cough that made _my_ throat hurt. "I got tacos," he said, and I heard the rustling of the paper bag. "I brought Stan and Kenny some, and I just thought... Maybe, you might want some too."

"Oh," I said with another sniffle. "J – jeez, Clyde, that was nice of you." It really was. Clyde and I—none of the other guys and I—had ever really been friends. Except Eric. And, well, Eric and I, we were more than just – just friends. But everyone else, they all had each other for friends. The only person who might count as a sort-of friend was Kenny, but even then he'd mostly hung out with Kyle or Stan, or Clyde. I'd just never expected anybody other than Eric to even, well, to even really remember that I existed.

Clyde kind of shrugged, with one shoulder. "Everybody needs to eat," he mumbled. "They're good tacos, too, I promise." He held the bag out to me with one hand, and pushed his hair out of his eyes with the other. "Mitch Hedberg, that comedian Craig really likes? He made them."

Mitch Hedberg. I had to think for a few seconds, but I remembered him. One of the times we had all been hanging out together—I think it was Kenny's birthday—Craig had brought over a Mitch Hedberg DVD. Eric hadn't liked it very much. He said it was stupid comedy that didn't really make sense, but I'd thought it was funny. "I didn't know he made tacos too."

"Me neither. I talked to him while I was there." Clyde said. "And he said he started running Taco Loco—that's what the place is called—like a month after he got here, because he was hungry and couldn't find a decent taco to—" He coughed. "To save his life."

"Well – well, thank you," I said, just to break the weird sudden silence. I reached up and took the paper bag, setting it down in front of me, but I didn't open it right away. I just started crumpling and uncrumpling the top of the bag, not sure what to do.

"Yeah. No problem." Clyde kicked at the ground with one of his really nice shoes. "I guess I'm gonna—"

"Y – you wanna stay and – talk?" I bit my lip, looking up at Clyde's forehead, still avoiding his eyes. I wasn't sure why I'd asked him that. I hadn't ever really talked to Clyde, not without other people there. But I just, there had been something in the way he had been standing there and the way he had been acting that made it seem like there was something on his mind. And, well, I just thought that since we were both – both _here_ , and talking to someone about things that were bothering _me_ usually made me feel better, maybe I could help Clyde, somehow. Maybe I could make him a little bit less sad.

"Actually..." Clyde slowly sat down on the ground across from me, and starting untying and retying his shoelaces. "I kind of... You really wouldn't mind talking?"

"W – well, jeez, of course not," I said, uncrumpling the paper bag and pulling out a wrapped taco. "Everyone needs someone to talk to sometimes." I pushed the bag over in Clyde's direction, just in case he wanted one too, but he shook his head no.

"Thanks, Butters." His voice was so quiet, but I could hear how sad he was, especially when he said my name. I didn't know what to do. If Eric ever sounded that sad, I would hug him, because I knew that he liked that. But that was different, he was Eric. This was Clyde, and I wasn't sure how he would react to a hug. I'd never seen him hug anybody. I was still trying to think of something helpful to say when he looked up from his shoes and said, "When did – How did you know you were... You know. That you liked him? Cartman."

"How did I know?" I blinked. I hadn't been expecting that question, but, just like with Kyle in his kitchen that day, I knew I had to answer it seriously. I bit my lip and tried to think. "W – well, I'm not real sure how to explain it, but it was l – like, all of a sudden one day, just being around him made me feel, well, good. Even – even when he would call me names, part of me was just – just happy that he was noticing me at all, you know?"

Clyde nodded slowly, chewing on one of his nails again.

"And I'd get this – this feeling, in my stomach, like..." I looked up, trying to find the right words. "Kind of like being afraid, but kind of – of excited at the same time, and all I wanted to do was be close to him..."

"You didn't like..." Clyde hesitated, twisting one of his shoelaces around his finger. "Like... It didn't like, freak you out and make you want to try to like...ignore it?"

"No," I said, confused. "Why would it?"

"Because he was... Because he was _Cartman_." Clyde's words came out so loud he was almost yelling at me, and I jumped. He'd been being so quiet, the sudden increase in volume scared me. But it hadn't scared me enough that I hadn't registered what his words were, and I was just sick and tired of my feelings for Eric being called into question.

"Listen," I started angrily, but Clyde cut me off, and I suddenly realized that while he was being loud, he didn't really seem to be mad at me. Looking more closely at him, he looked more like he was about to start crying than anything else.

"He was a _guy_. Weren't you afraid of getting made fun of forever? Weren't you—" His voice cracked, and he started coughing.

"I didn't s – say I wasn't afraid," I stuttered. "But – but I was more afraid of what m – my parents would do when they found out than what E – Eric would say. I c – couldn't _not_ try."

"You weren't even afraid of what might happen if you told him and he just got freaked out, and then you had to see him every _day_ and know that you would never be able to be friends with him again, because it would be too awkward, and then you would lose him _completely_ , and he'd never even just hang around you to rip on you or _anything_ and you would end up alone because he would go and find himself somebody else and you would have to watch them being together and _know_ that no matter what he'll never look at _you_ the way he looks at _Tweek_?" Somewhere in the middle of Clyde's jumbled speech, he'd started to cry. _Really_ cry. He pulled the sleeves of his sweater over his hands and covered his face with them.

I couldn't do anything except just stare at him for a minute. I knew I should try to say something to him, but I was confused again. I didn't understand what he'd been saying. I'd heard him, all right, but I just didn't understand. What did Tweek have to do with Eric? What did anything about me and Eric have to do with Tweek? I couldn't figure it out. And what was that other thing Clyde had said? _"...and then you had to see him every day and know that you would never be able to be friends with him again."_ I had never been friends with Eric before – before that day; the only time Eric would ever talk to me would be to make fun of me. Nothing Clyde had said made any sense. I watched him, as he sat across from me, and I could see tears falling through the cracks between his fingers. Poor guy... I guess he'd been more upset than I'd even thought. He must _really_ miss Token.

Except, now that I thought about it, Clyde hadn't said very much about Token. He hadn't said very much in general, really—at least not around me—but when he did talk, it was usually about... About Craig.

"Oh..." I whispered, being as quiet as I could so Clyde wouldn't hear me. "Hamburgers."

Now I _really_ didn't know what to do. Jeez, poor Clyde, I'd had no idea he felt that way, not just about Craig, but at all. I wondered how long he'd known that he had a crush on Craig. It sure seemed like it had been a long time, the way he'd just exploded like that. It was like he'd been trying to hide it, maybe even from himself. Or – or maybe he _hadn't_ known for a long time... I bit my lip again and started twisting one of my shoelaces around my finger while I thought. That sounded – somehow that sounded more like Clyde, to me. It would explain why he'd asked me how I knew I liked Eric, if he'd just realized that he was thinking about Craig in a different way and he wanted to know why it was happening without coming right out and asking. It was like a way for him to make sure what he was feeling really meant what he thought it might. So he'd asked me, and he must have – oh, no, something I'd said must have really hit home with him, and now he must be feeling even worse.

I scooted forward, until I was right in front of Clyde. I had to fix this somehow. It was my fault he felt like this right now, even if I hadn't meant for anything I'd said to make him feel so bad. "Clyde?" I said, feeling my heart start to beat a little faster. I was nervous; I didn't want him to be mad at me. "I – well, I'm s – sorry, I didn't – didn't mean to make you cry."

Clyde said something, but I couldn't hear him because his voice was so muffled by his sleeves. I looked around. There were a lot of people on computer, but I didn't want to bother them. There was nobody near me that could help me. Part of me wished Kenny were here; he and Clyde were at least actually friends. And Kenny was so smart, he would probably know what the right thing to say was. I sure didn't, and I felt bad that I wasn't helping Clyde. That's all I'd wanted when I asked him if he needed to talk, and instead of helping, I'd just made him feel awful. I sighed, and muttered to myself, "Stupid."

Clyde sniffled loudly; it startled me, and I jumped. He lifted his head and moved his hands down a little so all I could see was his forehead and his eyes, and shook his head. "No, Butters..." His voice came out all growly, and he coughed. "You're not stupid. I'm stupid."

"B – but I made you feel so bad," I said, looking down and taking a deep breath. "I j – just wanted to make you feel better, and I didn't do that. It was just because you – you looked so sad, and nobody's really talked to you much since we've been h – here. And, well, I just, I know what it's like to be real sad, and I just thought we s – should all be able to talk to each other about things. I mean, I'm – I'm miserable without Eric, and Stan's miserable without Kyle, and you're—"

"Miserable without Craig." Clyde interrupted me. "I... I _like_ him. Like, I _like_ him." He shook his head again with another sniffle. " _That's_ stupid. And the really stupid part is it took _dying_ for me to figure it out. And now I'm stuck here forever." He covered his eyes again as more tears started to fall. "I can't do this," he mumbled. "I just..."

I wished I had more to offer him, something that would at least make him smile. I reached out and put my hand on Clyde's shoulder, not knowing what else to do. I felt so bad for him, it almost made me cry too. I couldn't even imagine how it must feel to be him right now; he might even feel worse than I did, being without Eric. At least – at least I'd gotten time to be with Eric before... But Clyde, even if we were all still together, Craig was with Tweek, and after everything with Thomas... I looked up, at the sky, and glared at it. Darn it, God wasn't being fair again. I was starting to think that church lied to everyone. They said that good people would end up happy. Well, I thought I was a good person. Clyde sure was a good person, and Stan hadn't ever done anything to hurt anybody. Sure, we could say that we ended up in Heaven at – at the end of the day, but we weren't _happy_.

"...and then he made him a fruit basket!"

"I know, right? Wasn't that priceless?"

I twisted my head around quickly at the sound of familiar voices. Not very far away I could see Stan and Kenny walking in my and Clyde's direction. I couldn't see them very well, but if I squinted, it looked like Stan was smiling. Well, at least Kenny had been able to make him smile. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, and I looked back at Clyde. He'd lifted his head and was watching Stan and Kenny too. I let go of his shoulder and slid back across the ground to where my notebook and pen were. I didn't think I could write my letter to Eric right now; I wanted to see how everybody on Earth was doing. I hadn't been on a computer in a while.

"Don't – don't tell them, okay?" Clyde said, just as I picked up my notebook.

I hadn't even considered telling Stan and Kenny anything Clyde had said to me. It wasn't my place; he would tell them if he wanted them to know. I wasn't even sure he'd meant to tell me, but either way I wasn't going to just betray his trust like that. "I won't. Promise."

Clyde nodded, just as Stan and Kenny got to us. Kenny immediately picked up the paper bag of tacos. I'd completely forgotten about the tacos.

"Sweet," Kenny said, pulling out a taco and offering the bag to Stan, who shook his head. "How are you guys?"

Clyde shrugged. Standing up, I said, "I'm – I'm okay. I'm going to go on a computer."

"Me too," said Stan quietly, his smile fading. "I want – to see how Kyle's doing."

Kenny dropped down onto the cloud where I'd been sitting, across from Clyde. "I'll hang out with Clyde, then," he said, unwrapping the taco and taking a bite. When he swallowed, he looked at Clyde and said, sounding more serious, "How are you?"

"Come on," I said to Stan, wanting to leave Clyde and Kenny alone, because... Well, just because I felt awkward being within hearing distance of other peoples' serious conversations. Eric had always said he didn't understand that about me. I just liked to give people their privacy, and not accidentally hear something I didn't want to hear. "There's a couple computers over here." We walked a few feet away to where there were two free computers beside each other, and sat down.

I slipped the headphones over my ears and double clicked the Google Earth button. I typed in, _Tweek Tweak_ , hit the Enter button, and waited.

_ERROR: 895230 NAME DOES NOT EXIST_. An error message popped up with a loud beep. I blinked at the screen. That wasn't right. Tweek existed. I checked the spelling of his name, hit Enter again, and just got the same message. I sat back in my chair, confused, and looked over at Stan's computer just as he whispered, "Oh my God."

"What?" My heart sped up again. That never sounded good. "What's wrong?"

Stan didn't answer me; he just kept staring at his screen. One of his hands was pressing his headphones hard against his ear. I moved my eyes to his computer screen. Kyle was standing beside Token, who was sitting on his hospital bed. They were both staring at the bed across from them, which was empty.

"Isn't that...?" I trailed off as Stan shook his head. He looked like he was going to be sick. I could see Kyle's lips move, but I couldn't hear anything since Stan had the headphones plugged in. I bit my lip, then unplugged my headphones from my computer and plugged them into the extra headphone spot on Stan's.

"...should have watched him!" Token was saying. He sounded angry, but when I squinted at the screen I could see that he was crying.

"We should have known... God, Tweek." Kyle was crying too. I looked from him to Token and back again.

"I can't do this, Kyle. I can't lose every one of my friends." Token's voice was shaking uncontrollably.

I was about to ask Stan what had happened, but before I could get a word out, he closed the screen, ripped the headphones off his ears, and pushed his chair back, still staring at his screen with a horrified look on his face. I looked around helplessly, grateful when I heard Kenny say, "Stan? Stan, what's wrong?"

" _Tweek_." Stan's voice scared me; he didn't sound like himself at all.

"What about Tweek?" Kenny jumped up from the cloud and came over to us. Clyde followed him slowly, and I wanted to tell him not to come. I wasn't sure what had happened to Tweek, exactly, but he was Clyde's friend, and Clyde was already upset enough...

Stan didn't look like he would be able to say anything else without getting sick, so Kenny leaned over the back of my chair and looked at my computer screen. I heard him inhale sharply, and then he said, " _Fuck_."

"What happened?" Clyde demanded from right over my head. I slid down in my chair and closed my eyes. Something very, very bad was about to happen. I could feel it. "Name does not exist? What does that mean?"

"Fuck," Kenny said again. "Goddammit."

"He killed himself." Stan said slowly. "Kyle and Token said – they were talking and they said..."

"Fuck," Kenny said a third time. "That... Fuck..."

"He – " I heard Clyde swallow hard. "He – what?"

"Oh, jeez..." I whispered.

"Does that mean we'll see him?" Clyde said, a tiny bit of hope in his voice. "He's – he's _Tweek_ , I mean, he wouldn't – would he?"

"Suicide...isn't..." Kenny paused. I wasn't facing him, but I could tell that whatever he was about to say wasn't something he wanted to say at all. "Suicide isn't a... It doesn't...let you into Heaven."

"That's not fair." I didn't mean to say the words out loud, but – but it _wasn't_ , darn it! None of this was fair, to anybody!

"No," Kenny said angrily. "No, it isn't."

There was silence, except for my heartbeat pounding in my ears, and the sounds of Stan and Clyde both quietly crying. I didn't understand why any of this had been allowed to happen. It wasn't the way anything was ever supposed to be...

"Kenny." I almost recognized the voice that spoke from behind us.

I slid around on the chair so I could see who was there. Jesus was hovering in the air about eight feet away. He was looking at Kenny, and when I looked up, I could see that Kenny was glaring back at him.

"What?" Kenny was so intimidating when he was angry.

"My father has just returned. I told him you wanted to speak to him, and he's waiting for you, at—"

Before Jesus could even finish his sentence, Kenny snapped, "Go tell him I will be there in a minute."

"Very well, my child," Jesus replied, backing up a step. Jeez. Maybe even Jesus was intimidated by angry Kenny. He turned and started walking away, disappearing after a few steps.

"I need to go talk to God," Kenny said to us. "I won't be long, I promise. Just – stay right here. Stay together, okay?" He crouched down in front of Clyde, who had sat down on the ground and was staring down at his feet. "I promise you, all of you, it's going to be okay." Straightening up, he started walking backwards in the same direction Jesus had gone. I was the only one watching him go, so I was the only one who saw him mouth the words, _'Trust me.'_ at us.

I wished I could.


	22. Wasted Sacrifice: Christophe

"The last thing we're going to look at today is second-hand smoke."

I closed my eyes and shifted in my seat, but it was impossible to find any sort of comfort from the hard plastic of the chair; I was used to having to rest in less than desirable places, but this was ridiculous. Even if I'd managed to contort myself into a position in which I could sleep, there was still the _click-click-click_ of the slide projector, and the monotonous, droning voices of the mindless Rob Reiner automatons. Imbeciles, all of them, blindly following the beliefs of a human being whose acts of 'good' were nothing more than intolerance and terrorism. I'd had the misfortune of encountering Reiner on numerous occasions when I was alive, and I'd seen firsthand how he used nothing more complex than scare tactics to frighten people into doing exactly what he wanted—quitting smoking. He spoke to people like they had no knowledge of what effect a simple cigarette had on the human body, when I knew it was just the opposite. Most smokers, myself included, knew exactly what they were putting into their bodies, they simply did not care. If a person was fully aware of the consequences, and chose to do something anyway, was it not his decision alone?

I opened one eye a crack and glanced around the room. From my place alone in the far back corner—those who had dragged me here had attempted to get me to sit in the front row, but there was no way in Hell I was letting that happen—I could see the entire room. There were at least one hundred citizens of Hell in this one room, if not more than that. Unlike me, however, all of them actually seemed to _care_ about the nonsense spewing out of these idiots' mouths. Reiner himself was seated at the front of the room, along with five of his followers, and an empty chair; I could only assume this chair belonged to the female Reiner-bot who, it appeared, had been chosen to be the presenter today. I had gotten the impression that only the elite of this group were permitted to lead lectures such as this, while the others were relegated to patrolling Hell for anyone they could bring here against their will. I could see the ones who had caught me, as well as the two who had gone after Tucker—unsuccessfully, I noticed with a tinge of jealousy—standing against the far wall. Another was running the projector, while two more were guarding the doors. I snorted softly to myself as I imagined them attempting to stop me. I was trained in stealth; I had made a living on my abilities to get in and out of places without causing any disturbances or getting caught.

Although... I frowned. They had caught me quite easily to bring me here, and upon entering, they had successfully confiscated my cigarettes. Unconsciously, I reached into my pocket, grasping nothing but the fabric of my cargo pants. A low growl escaped my lips and I glared at the bastards near the door, but made no move to escape this place. As much as I despised being here, I did not want to give any of these people a reason to watch me more closely.

"...just as harmful as smoking a cigarette yourself. You see, every time _you_ light a cigarette, and take that first drag..."

I glanced down at my watch, and saw with disgust that this lecture had already been going on for three hours. I could not understand how any of these people here had the patience to sit here for this long, but as I scanned the faces in the crowd, I could see that they all seemed _interested._ Genuinely interested, as if the things they were being told were not common knowledge, but some dark secrets they were just now being permitted to know because they were dead. Idiots. I shifted restlessly; I just wanted out of this Godforsaken place. Maybe I'd been wrong about him; maybe God was not in fact the bastard who had been fucking with me all my life, not if this is where I had ended up. This was all Eric Cartman's fault, and when I got out of here, he was going to pay. I was going to make him wish it was possible for him to die a second time.

"...even though it makes you feel good, the smoke from _your_ cigarette can harm others around you, and it has been proven that even second-hand smoke can cause lung cancer. That means that even though you may not mean to, you could be the cause of health problems, and even death, for other people, even people you care about. Do you really want that on your conscience?"

I paused, in the middle of generating scenarios in my brain that resulted in a severely injured Cartman, at the female's words.

"One of the scariest things about second-hand smoke is that the damage it causes is completely unintentional. There is no carefully thought out plan to use the smoke from your cigarette to bring harm to a friend or loved one, or complete stranger. All you care about is getting your fix from your tobacco, and that is just selfish. People die all the time because somebody decided that their addiction was more important than the welfare of others, and they see no reason to quit what makes them happy even if it means saving lives." She shook her head at the crowd of people. "It's disgusting. It's selfish and disgusting, and I hope you're happy with yourselves." She nodded at the male running the projector, and he _click_ ed on to the final slide, which read simply ' _The End_ '.

The people around me rose from their seats and filed towards the doors, which the two guards were holding open, muttering amongst themselves. As if in a trance, I slowly stood and trailed after them. I could barely hear what was going on around me; all parts of my mind were focused only on what I had just heard. I was not stupid, of course—I knew all about second-hand smoke, my mother had complained to me often about it when I had still lived at her home. It was the way the girl had spoken, the words she had chosen. To everybody else in the room, she was simply speaking about cigarettes, but to me, I saw something deeper in her words. I could draw a parallel between cigarettes and my job, and it was severely disconcerting.

I cared about Kyle, _for_ Kyle; denying that was impossible. I wanted the Jewish boy with a desire that I had never felt before. But could I truly _love_ him? Ah, that question again. After the conversation with Craig on the Broflovski's front step, and all of the thinking I had done afterwards, I had thought that perhaps my feelings were in fact feelings of love, but after the words of the female speaker today, I was once again uncertain.

There was no doubt in my mind that, had I gotten the chance to be with Kyle, I would not have quit my job. Being a mercenary was the only way I knew how to live; I was not good at anything else. But it was a highly dangerous and risky career path—that had, quite obviously, been proven with my last mission—and would it not be selfish to start a relationship with somebody because of that? I did not see how it could be otherwise—and if I was truly in love with Kyle, should I not be able to do all I could to protect him from harm, even if it meant giving up my job? Kyle would have been in danger every day, simply because I had allowed him to get close to me. If any of my numerous enemies had been looking for a way to get under my skin, to distract or manipulate me, all they would have had to do was get to Kyle. The thieves on the plane had discovered the identity behind the Mole, after all, and they had survived; I did not doubt that they had immediately gone to their leader and told him of this new information. It was too bad for them, of course, seeing as how I had perished in the crash, but if I hadn't...

I had always told myself that, if we were in a relationship, Kyle would be perfectly safe because no one but he and his friends, and Gregory of course, knew I was in fact the Mole. Adversaries of mine could not harm anyone I cared about if they did not know who I was personally, and not once in my days as a mercenary had I ever let my two identities be connected. But I had not stopped to consider what would happen if I failed in a mission. I had only failed once before this, and that was during the war, when I was much younger, and there had been so much confusion I had been able to slip away undetected. But this time, this time I had left witnesses. It did not matter that I had died this time; the point of the matter was they had discovered who I really was. What if that had happened at an earlier time, or worse, what if it had happened after I had become involved with Kyle? I had refused to think of these things before, but now they were plaguing my mind. I had been so naive to think I would be able to protect Kyle forever. It was impossible, especially with the line of work I had chosen. It was either my work, or Kyle, and I had made my choice a long time ago. Though part of me wished I could have both, it was clear it was not meant to be so. I was a mercenary, forever and always, alive or dead, and mercenaries could not have time for love. My feelings for Kyle had only been a distraction, as my current surroundings proved without a doubt.

After all, it was because of Kyle that I had been so rash in my pursuit of the jewel thief on the airplane; if it hadn't been for the redhead, I would have been able to think more clearly, instead of trying to get things done as quickly as possible so as not to bring harm to him.

Unfortunately, I had been distracted by my feelings, my emotions, and it had ended in death for so many. Not Kyle, but very nearly everybody else on board the plane. And all because of my selfishness. I should have never accepted Gregory's mission; I had known full well that I was emotionally distracted, but I had been so angry at the Marsh boy for invading my territory, I'd told myself I needed something to take my mind off of it, to get me back in a businesslike frame of mind—a new mission had seemed like the perfect idea. And though, when McCormick had come to me and told me that Kyle and Stan were not dating and I still had an opportunity if I so desired it, I had considered calling Gregory back and cancelling, I had let my ridiculous sense of pride get in the way. I had never backed out of a mission before in my life, and I was not about to start now, regardless of any possible consequences.

Pride and selfishness; that was all it was. I could blame the fact that there had been a decoy jewel thief, I could blame the taser, I could even blame Gregory for not giving me more information. But in the end, I could only truthfully blame myself. I understood that now, and in that moment, I was glad to be dead; at least I did not have to be one of the survivors, and see Kyle after what I had done to his friends. My heart ached with unhappiness and guilt as I thought of how he must be feeling. He must hate me, I thought, and it should be that way; there was no reason for him to feel anything other than dislike for me now, and perhaps it was better that way, better for his last feelings toward me to be bitter and angry than anything else. In the same way, it was better that I had died, and was no longer around Kyle to influence in life in any negative ways. I did not deserve his love. I did not even deserve his respect.

Again, I reached for my cigarettes before realizing that they were not in fact in my pocket, but back with the cult of anti-smokers. I refused to go back there to fight those idiots for them, despite the fact that my head was beginning to ache from my lack of nicotine. I did not plan on ever setting foot in that room again; all I wished to do was avoid that place for the rest of eternity. At the same time, my desire for a cigarette was nearly overwhelming, and as far as I knew, the only cigarettes in existence down here were the ones I had had with me.

"Sheet," I muttered angrily, coming to a sudden stop. It seemed as though I had no choice. For the first time since leaving the lecture, I glanced up and around me, to get my bearings. I blinked as I noticed just how far I had come; I was nearly back to the mall, where all of this had begun, before that bastard Cartman had informed the entire population of Hell of the fact that Tucker and I were smoking, and gotten me sent to that prison. I shifted my weight from side to side, my boots making the gravel crunch loudly underneath them, as a thought struck me. I had given Craig three of my cigarettes, mostly because I did not want him to keep pestering me. Was it possible he still had some left? He had escaped capture earlier, and I had not seen where he had gone, but perhaps Cartman was still in the same place, in the food court area. If he was, I knew I could force him to tell me in which direction Craig had fled.

I marched ahead quickly, anticipating the moment I could lay my hands on that fat bastard and make him suffer for the torture he had caused me. The path to the main doors of the mall was crowded with people, but I paid no attention to their complaints as I shoved my way through them. What could any of those fools do to me? Even in life none of them could possibly be a match for me, and in death, I had already been subjected to the worst kind of torment. Their threats meant nothing to me, but still, I clenched and unclenched my fists, longing for my shovel. Nothing satisfied me more than the dull sound made by my shovel coming into contact with an enemy's head. It calmed me, much in the way, I supposed, that lullabies and bedtime stories calmed small children.

I wrenched one of the doors of the mall open; it swung behind me and collided with the closed door on its right with a loud crash. I could see, out of the corner of my eye, patrons of the mall watching me and whispering amongst themselves, and it took very nearly all of my self-control not to shout at them. I did not want Cartman to hear me coming, for, knowing him, he would attempt to run off and avoid me. Coward, I thought, my lips curving upward into a sneer as I came upon the food court. Pausing, I scanned the multitude of tables and was rewarded with the sight of exactly the coward I wished to see. Cartman was indeed sitting at the very same table as before, his back to me; judging from that and the twenty or so empty trays on the table beside him, he had not moved in the hours I had been trapped in the lecture. I shook my head slightly in disgust, though in truth I was not surprised in the least.

Moving slowly, so as not to alert him to my presence—with relief I saw that I had not lost my mercenary training completely—I crept up behind Cartman as he was shoving handful of fries into his mouth. He had barely finished swallowing when I reached over and took hold of his arm, grasping it tightly. Before he even had time to react, I leaned over, speaking quietly into his ear. "I would 'ighly recommend for you not to scream."

"What the—let _go_ , Frenchy!" Cartman tried to pull his arm free, but I simply held on tighter. "Jesus _Christ_ , what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Ze Tucker boy. Where did 'e go?" I demanded, choosing to ignore, for the time being, the fact that I seemingly had not intimidated the fat boy one iota. My head was pounding incessantly, and I viewed locating Craig and, I hoped, a cigarette, as my top priority.

"How the fuck should I know?" Cartman whined, continuing to struggle. "I don't pay attention to what you assholes do."

Narrowing my eyes at him, I hissed, "Wrong answer." I pulled my free arm back, ready to swing at Cartman's head, but I was distracted by a sudden flash of bright red to my right. I faltered, my arm dropping back to my side and my grip on the fat boy's limb loosening, and slowly turned my head. A redheaded boy— _not_ Kyle, I thought with a sudden pang of both disappointment and relief—was making his way through the food court with two others. I let out a breath I had not realized I had been holding, and in that moment realized that Cartman had managed to break free of my hold on his arm. He was not, however, fleeing as I had anticipated he would; instead, he was merely continuing to feast on his meal of food court cuisine as though I had not interrupted him.

I frowned, shooting a glare in the direction of the redheaded boy who had distracted me. Again, I had been thinking of Kyle when I should have been concentrating on nothing but achieving my goal. Kyle did not matter now, I told myself. What mattered now was making a living for myself in death, as well as a reputation—being dead was no reason for me to leave my Earthly reputation of infamy behind me. I directed my glare at Cartman now, although he was too busy eating to notice me. I had lost my element of surprise, but there was no reason for me not to still be able to coerce him into telling me what I wanted to know. I moved around the table and took a seat across from him.

"Fuck off, Frenchy, I'm eating," he grumbled at me without raising his head.

"I can see zat," I said, my jaw clenched. "It seems zat you do not do anyzing else wiz your time, _non_?"

"It's better than what _you_ do, just glaring around at everybody with a fucking cancer stick in your mouth. Yeah, that makes you look _real_ fucking cool," he said with a snort of sarcastic laughter.

A growl escaped my lips, and I tensed, ready to spring across the table to and rip the bastard's head off. He looked up, and said, rolling his eyes, "What _ever_ , Frenchy." I saw his eyes move past me and widen slightly before he added, "Your tobacco fag is over there." There was something different in his tone, and I could not decipher what it was until I turned around.

As Cartman had said, Craig was standing at the counter at Starbucks, across the food court. What the fat boy had failed to mention, however, was the fact that Craig was not alone. Tweek was next to him, Craig's arm around the other boy who—I could tell even at this distance—was shaking. I blinked once, then a second time just to be certain that my eyes were not playing tricks on me. No, each time I looked, Tweek was still there. I glanced behind me at Cartman. He was still staring in the same direction, and the cheeseburger he had currently been eating was lying forgotten on its paper wrapper on the table. I could see that he, too, was confused as to what exactly the twitchy one was doing down here. Kenny had said he had lived, but it was possible he had been mistaken. Even still... I tilted my head slightly as I watched the two of them pick up coffee cups and turn around. Tweek did not seem the type to come to Hell upon dying...

My head throbbed suddenly, breaking me out of my thoughts. I used the table to push myself into a standing position, and made my way through the food court, towards Starbucks. As I came nearer to Craig and Tweek, I could hear the latter whimpering softly, while the former spoke quietly to him.

"It's okay," Craig was saying. "It's okay, Tweeker, you're okay, I'm here."

Tweek said nothing, just gulped his coffee and shivered. Craig tousled the blond's hair, and was raising his cup to his lips to take a sip when he caught sight of me. I nodded at him, a gesture he returned.

"I do not suppose you still 'ave any of ze cigarettes I gave you earlier?" I asked, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

Craig reached into his pocket and pulled out three cigarettes, the last three cigarettes I would ever have. I snatched them from his grasp and had one lit and in my mouth in seconds. With the tobacco, I felt myself relax just slightly, the tension caused by the Reiner-bots lecture fading with each inhalation.

"You're welcome," Craig said sarcastically, shaking his head at me.

"Zank you," I muttered reluctantly from around the cigarette.

Craig raised one shoulder in a semi-shrug. "Whatever," he said. "I was quitting anyway." He looked at Tweek, and I could see nothing but love in his eyes. "Tweek doesn't like it very much, so."

I said nothing, beginning to walk back through the sea of tables to where Cartman had remained. I heard footsteps behind me and assumed Craig and Tweek were following. So, Craig had quit smoking, then. In a way, I admired his willpower; he had, after all, been smoking nearly as long as I had, and I could not get through a day without a dose of nicotine. Nicorette gum, while useful in places where smoking was prohibited, could not compare to an actual cigarette. At the same time, I could not help but feel contempt for Craig, for allowing one person to have such influence on his lifestyle.

The female's words from the lecture came into my mind again: "... _somebody decided that their addiction was more important than the welfare of others..._ " Perhaps, I thought as we reached Cartman's table, perhaps Craig had simply decided that Tweek's welfare was of greater importance than his need for tobacco. Was that really something to be ashamed of? I shook my head slightly, impatient with myself, as I took the empty seat beside Cartman—Craig and Tweek had already sat down on the other side of the table. I disliked all of these contradictory thoughts that were invading my mind lately; I had enjoyed my life much more when things were simple, black and white. My attraction to Kyle had complicated things far too much. I closed my eyes and attempted to focus, to think about things clearly.

Since I had developed feelings for Kyle, I had been almost desperate to learn just how strong those feelings were. I had looked everywhere for answers to my questions, the most important question being, _what is love_? Well, I thought, with a quick glance at the couple across from me, it seemed I had found my answer. Love, it appeared, was personified by Craig and Tweek more than any other couple I had seen in all my life. I watched as Tweek's shaking, though it didn't stop completely, slowed significantly any time Craig touched him in any way. I saw how Craig's harsh, hostile exterior melted away every time he looked at the blond. I thought of the two remaining cigarettes in my pocket, and of how Craig had given up his vice for the other boy. And I thought of myself, of how I knew I could not give up my job, much less my reliance on cigarettes, for anybody. Not even Kyle.

_This_ was love, in front of me. My feelings had not come close to being anything like what Craig and Tweek felt for each other. That much was obvious. Suddenly I was angry, so angry at myself I started to shake. I had let my emotions get in the way of my job, I had let them get me _killed_ , and they had not been worth it. Kenny had been right after all, when he had called it a simple crush. I had thought him to be wrong, but again, that had simply been my naïveté. I ground my teeth together, furious with myself for allowing myself to do what I had sworn I would never let happen: to be blinded by my feelings. Never again, I promised myself. I would never again allow emotions or feelings to control me in any way.

"I don't know," Craig was saying to Cartman. Apparently Cartman had asked a question I had not heard. "I just found him, wandering around. I don't think it matters, I just care that he's here."

I turned my attention to Tweek, who still had not said a word. His cardboard Starbucks coffee cup appeared to be empty, and he had started to shiver again. His head was down, unkempt blond hair hanging in front of his face, but I could see that his eyes were closed. Something about him seemed more off than usual. He seemed, if it was possible, to be more tense. It was as if there was something on his mind that he did not wish to be brought into the open, but I could not think of any secrets he may have, unless...

A thought struck me, suddenly. Perhaps Kenny had _not_ been wrong about who had survived the plane crash after all. I leaned towards Tweek, across the table. Keeping my eyes on him and my voice steady, I said, "I zink I may know 'ow 'e came to be 'ere."

As I had expected, Tweek's eyes flew open and he jerked backwards in his chair. His shook his head frantically, his eyes wide. "N – no – d – ngh! – don't—!"

I straightened up, smiling briefly to myself. His reaction was all the proof I needed to know that I had been right in my guess.

"What's going on?"

Craig was looking back and forth from me to Tweek, and I could see that even Cartman seemed interested—he was being unnaturally silent in any case. I shrugged casually, flicking my old cigarette onto the floor and lighting a new one. "You 'ave not figured it out yet, Tucker?" I said, making sure to keep derision clear in my tone. "According to McCormick, 'e was alive a few days ago, was 'e not? 'E must have learned of ze results of ze crash, of course, and of ze fact zat you—" I nodded in Craig's direction. "—'ad not survived. Now, let us zink." I tapped my chin with one finger as I pretended to think. "'E 'ad lost 'is lover, 'e must 'ave been miserable. And now..." I shifted my gaze to Tweek, who was weeping quietly now, tears streaming down his face. "Now 'e's 'ere..."

Craig's face was white. I had to give him credit for catching on to what I was saying right away. He swallowed once, then shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "No, that's... He wouldn't. He _wouldn't_."

"Why don't you ask 'im?" I suggested, leaning back in my chair.

Craig turned to Tweek, his mouth open to, presumably, ask Tweek to tell him I was wrong. Once he caught sight of the blond's tears, however, his mouth slowly closed and he turned, if it was possible, even whiter. He stared at Tweek silently for a few minutes; finally, he managed to whisper, "Tweek?"

Shaking now more than ever, Tweek looked up at Craig. The latter swallowed again, hard, then whispered, "Did – did you...really...?"

Tweek squeezed his eyes shut, and, mumbling something incoherent, nodded once.

"Fuck," Craig whispered; it seemed he could only communicate in whispers now. His breathing was shaky and he, too, looked as though he were about to cry.

"Jesus, Frenchy," Cartman said from beside me. I glanced at him. Even he seemed shaken by this new turn of events.

I shrugged one last time, rose from the chair, and began to walk away, away from the three of them and their emotions.

Never again.


	23. Shiver: Token

Almost immediately after Kyle closed the door to the hospital room, I started crying again. Every wave of tears brought with it a new wave of pain, but I couldn't stop. This was all just way more than I could handle. Tweek. Tweek was gone now too, and it was my fault. I should have known that he wouldn't be able to deal with Craig being gone alone, I should have never fallen asleep, I should have been there for him, I should have used my fucking head and _known_ that he would be fragile enough to – to do what he did. This was _Tweek_ , for Christ's sake, he was fragile enough that running out of coffee grounds at home would give him a reason not to want to live anymore—and had, on more than one occasion. It was always Craig who calmed him down, always Craig who went out to get more coffee before any of the rest of us even knew something was wrong. Craig was _way_ more fucking important to Tweek than anything else _ever_ could be, and I _knew_ that.

I kept looking over at the empty bed next to my mine, where Tweek had been, like maybe it would turn out that this was all in my head and he was really still there, shaking and miserable but at least he would be alive. But no, this was real; all of this was way too real. I'd gotten to spend fifteen minutes with the only other survivor of my closest friends, and now Kyle was on his way to call his mom to tell her that Tweek was gone now too. Would he tell her that he'd woken up from his coma and...? My stomach churned violently and I shook my head, trying to shake the image of Tweek lying motionless with an empty bottle of caffeine pills beside him—his body— and a broken coffee mug on the floor, out of my head. Jesus Christ. Would Kyle tell her that? I thought about Tweek's parents, some of the nicest people I knew. If Kyle told his mom the truth, then she would tell the Tweaks... Oh, my God, I hoped that Kyle would find some other way. I didn't want Mr. and Mrs. Tweak to know that their son had – done _that_. God, it was so hard to even think the words, I just didn't want to believe it.

They'd taken Tweek away early this morning. I'd woken up first, and seen him, just lying there, and I'd instantly known something was wrong. It was the way he was lying down; Tweek didn't look like that when he was sleeping. I'd had enough sleepovers with him and Craig and Clyde to know. Tweek was never still while he slept, he was always twitching in _some_ way. _Always_. But this morning, his arms had just been at his sides, and he hadn't been moving; it was like it had been when he'd been in a coma. My first reaction was to look up at the machines around his bed, but I still didn't understand anything about them, and so I'd woken Kyle up and told him he needed to go check on Tweek, since I couldn't move that much without feeling like I was going to pass out.

So it was Kyle who had first noticed the pill bottle, and the coffee mug on the floor. I glanced down at the floor, now. There was still a brown coffee stain on the off-white tiles. It was Kyle who had gone to the door and yelled for a doctor, and it was Kyle who had explained things to the two nurses and one doctor who had come running to answer his call. I couldn't say anything then; I'd managed to sit up enough that I could see Tweek clearly, but after that I was frozen. I heard the doctor telling Kyle that there was nothing he could do for Tweek, but his voice was barely making it into my brain; it sounded like I was underwater, hearing a conversation that was happening on the surface, not five feet away from me in the same room. It wasn't until the doctor told the two nurses to wheel Tweek's bed out of the room that it really hit me, what had happened, and I'd started to cry. I still couldn't say anything; even if I had the ability to form words, I wouldn't have trusted myself to open my mouth, not with the way my stomach was acting. All I could do was watch helplessly, my vision blurry, as Tweek's hospital bed was wheeled out of sight. I'd looked to Kyle, then; he looked worse than I felt, if that was possible. He didn't say anything either, but I knew he was thinking the exact same thing I was: were we really the only ones left...?

I shut my eyes, now, but that did nothing to stop, or even slow, my crying. My throat was aching, and the pain from swallowing just made it worse. God, this... _sucked_. _So_ hard. I couldn't do this. I wished – I didn't even know what I wished anymore. I couldn't think straight. Not that it mattered. All of my thoughts just kept leading me right back to – to Tweek's suicide.

Suicide... Jesus Christ. That was the first time I'd actually let myself think the word, and my body's reaction to it was more violent than I'd thought it would be. I felt like I was going to throw up, and no matter how much or how often I inhaled, it didn't feel like enough oxygen was going to my lungs. I sucked in a huge mouthful of air, but all that happened was a sharp stabbing pain in my chest, right near my heart. I started coughing, and I couldn't catch my breath. God, my throat felt like it was on fire, I needed water or something, but aside from all my cough-spasms, which were only causing me _more_ pain, I couldn't move. I was getting dizzy, and starting to see spots, and I was sure I was going to pass out. Jesus Christ, where was Kyle, where was a doctor, where was _anybody_? I couldn't stop coughing, I couldn't _breathe,_ I was probably fucking myself up even more—this couldn't be good for whatever internal bleeding they'd said I had. I coughed again, more harshly than before, wincing; that felt like I was going to cough a hole right through my throat. God, I hoped the world considered me a good person. If this was going to kill me right now, I wanted to be good enough to get into Heaven so I could at least be with my best friend again.

"C – Clyde," I choked out, somehow, thinking about him. Did Heaven have video games? I hadn't ever asked Kenny that, and now I was wishing I had. If they did, I would play whatever video games Clyde wanted to play. I wouldn't even make him play Tony Hawk. If Clyde wanted to play House of the Dead, I would play House of the Dead, and I would try my fucking hardest not to shoot the innocents. If Clyde wanted to play Left 4 Dead, I would play Left 4 Dead and not complain about how complicated the controls were. If Clyde wanted to watch a fucking porno, I would watch it with him. I didn't care what we did as long as I got to see my best friend.

"Token? Fuck, are you okay?"

I heard a voice, a familiar voice, and could only shake my head, my eyes still closed. I heard a tap running, and then felt something cold being pushed into my hand.

"It's water, drink it, it'll help. I promise," said the voice.

I gripped the cup of water tightly. I was convulsing so much with my coughing I was sure that I was going to end up spilling the contents of the cup all over my bed before I got it to my mouth to drink any of it. Slowly, I started moving the hand holding the cup closer to me, trying to be as careful as I could. Just holding something cold was starting to help me, at least a little bit; I hadn't realized how hot I was until I'd felt the temperature difference between the cold water and my body. My coughing started to get less violent, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, there was a space of time where I wasn't hacking up my insides. I pressed the edge of the cup to my lips and slurped some water out of it. Christ, it felt so good on my throat. It still hurt like hell to swallow, but the water was definitely helping. I drained half the cup and then leaned my head back on my pillow.

"Are you okay?" the voice asked again. It was less panicked-sounding now, and still familiar, though it didn't really register in my brain who it belonged to until I opened my eyes just a crack and saw blond hair.

"Kenny..." I croaked. I winced again. Okay. Talking was not a good idea.

"Jesus," Kenny said, brushing some hair out of his eyes. "You scared me."

_Me too_ , I thought, but didn't say out loud. I didn't want to say any more than I had to. At least I could breathe right again. I managed to slide myself up on the bed a little bit more so I could sit up and finish the water in the cup. Kenny took the cup from me and filled it up again, giving it back to me and sitting down on the chair beside my bed. It was only then that I noticed how pale he was, way paler than normal. It was also then that I realized I hadn't seen Kenny since before Tweek... Since before. But he didn't look surprised; at least, not surprised to see that Tweek wasn't in the room with me anymore. I took another sip of water and then asked, haltingly, "Did you – see Kyle?"

Kenny shook his head. "No. I just got sent back to right here."

I didn't understand. Kenny hadn't said _anything_ about the empty bed. That would have been the first thing I would have asked about if I was him right now. There was _no_ way Tweek had looked ready to get up and walk around yesterday—God, seriously, it had only been yesterday? It seemed like so much longer than that.—so for him not to be here right now... Wouldn't Kenny _notice_ that? Unconsciously, I glanced over at the other side of the room again, my eyes filling with tears again. Jesus, Tweek...

I heard Kenny sigh softly, and I turned my head back to him to see him looking at the empty bed too. Was it awful that a part of me was wishing he hadn't saved me from my coughing attack? Suddenly I _really_ didn't want him to ask what had happened. I wanted him to care, but I didn't want to tell him what had happened in the less than twenty-four hours he'd been gone. God, I was such a _wuss_. Somebody was going to have to tell Kenny, unless he was just supposed to die again and find out for himself, since he could do that and be fine, and Kyle wasn't here yet. And... I sniffled, trying to blink enough so that my vision cleared. My head was killing me. Kyle had already been the one to do everything today, and now he was telling his _mom_ , so the least I could do was at least let _Kenny_ know...

I opened my mouth, not knowing how exactly I was going to start this, but Kenny started talking before I could.

"I know," he said quietly. "About Tweek, I know."

I stared at him, my mouth still open, waiting for him to elaborate on that. His words had surprised me so much that for a second I somehow forgot to be miserable. But he didn't say anything else, and he didn't look at me; his eyes stayed on the other bed, but I kept my eyes on him, and really _looked_ at him. He wasn't making any noise, and if I hadn't been looking at him I probably wouldn't have even noticed, but he was crying. And he was still so pale... I hadn't ever seen Kenny look as awful as he did right now. Out of the ten of us, Kenny had always been the least likely to get really upset about anything. I'd always been jealous of his ability to do that. I was nowhere near as emotional as Stan was— _had been_ —known to be, but I had my moments. Everyone did. Except Kenny.

It didn't ever seem to matter what was going on in his life; somehow he always managed to find the one good thing he had going for him and concentrate on that, and be happy. And he always managed to find a way to save any of the rest of us—except _maybe_ Tweek; usually only Craig could really make Tweek happy—from our misery. Or from anything, like he'd just saved me a few minutes ago. This was the first time in pretty much forever that I'd seen Kenny completely fall apart. It looked so _wrong_ , and suddenly I couldn't help wondering if maybe it wasn't as easy for Kenny to save everyone all the time as he made it seem. I knew he'd given up on a lot of things to help every single one of us, including me _._ And I knew that most of those times, we hadn't even asked for his help; he'd just done it because... Well, because he was Kenny. He was just like that. But... Maybe Kenny needed somebody to save _him_ sometimes too.

He was, I thought, unable to keep from glancing at the empty bed once more, the best friend—the best _person_ —out all of us. It was easy to _say_ you would give your life for someone, but Kenny actually could. And did. That's what he was doing for us all right now, wasn't it? Killing himself just to make sure we were all doing all right? Even though it seemed like everything that had happened was hurting him more than it was hurting me, maybe more than it was hurting anybody else. I'd thought it would be easier for him; he could go everywhere, he could see everyone. He could make sure Clyde was okay, he could go see Craig, he'd... I inhaled sharply as my brain finally made the connection that should have been obvious. _That_ was why he wasn't asking me where Tweek was; he already knew because he had to have seen him, up – up in Heaven. At least Kenny would be able to help Tweek adjust, and Clyde was there so Tweek would have a close friend, but, God, he had to be so scared...and he still wouldn't have the person he wanted the most. And Kenny had to be around for all of that... I couldn't believe I'd been so _jealous_ of Kenny. It was so selfish. All I'd cared about was being able to see my best friend, but I hadn't thought beyond that. I hadn't even _considered_ how hard it would be for Kenny, to know that he could come back to life whenever he wanted but he couldn't bring anybody else back with him. Especially people like Tweek. How must that feel? I'd never asked, I realized as a sharp pang of guilt hit me. I'd never even really talked to Kenny about his ability. I'd just been one of those people who accepted that Kenny could resurrect and if he ever died he'd be back within a week, and we could all hang out again. I, like everybody else, had been more concerned about when Kenny would come back so we could do whatever it was we were doing that week than what happened to him and how it felt for him. We'd just been...so fucking self-involved.

"Clyde," Kenny said suddenly, jerking me out of my thoughts. He turned to face me, brushing his hair out of his face, which was miraculously free of tears. I blinked. He _had_ been crying...hadn't he? I hadn't just imagined it.

"Clyde...?" My voice was shaky.

"He wanted me to tell you..." Kenny hesitated, and I felt my heart rate speed up. Unconsciously, I started chewing on one of my fingernails. "He wanted me to tell you he says he's sorry."

"He's – why?" was the only thing I could think to say, my words slightly distorted; I realized I had my index finger in my mouth and immediately stopped gnawing on the nail and wiped my hand on my blanket. Jesus, Clyde had nothing to be sorry for. If anybody should be apologizing, it should be me—I'd been such a douchebag to him recently, always teasing him about liking Craig.

"For making you clean his house."

Some kind of combination of laughter, crying, and a snort came out of my mouth at that sentence. That right there: that was pure Clyde—apologizing for something as trivial as that, when there was something else so much bigger to be worrying about. He was so paranoid sometimes. I knew that he would be genuinely worried, though, that I was going to seriously be angry at him about the cleaning. It was just so typical of him, and usually I'd just laugh at him or call him a dumbass or something for worrying so much, but right now... I'd give anything for Clyde to actually be here, telling me himself that he felt bad for me being the one to make his house look semi-presentable for when his parents got home. I missed him, so much.

"Like I'd really be mad at him for that," I said, lifting my cup of water and taking a drink.

"I know." There was just the tiniest hint of a smile on Kenny's face. "I promised to tell you, though. He really wanted you to know." The shadow of a smile faded, and he sighed softly.

"Is he – okay?" Kenny's sigh had worried me. I didn't know if I'd actually heard something beyond the sigh, or if my mind was just telling me there was something off about it, but it felt like there was something Kenny wasn't saying. Or didn't want to say.

"He's been better," Kenny said slowly, looking away from me again. I followed his gaze; he was staring across the room again. "You know."

I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. "And—" The word caught in my throat, and I swallowed before trying again. "And h – how's Tweek?"

It seemed like forever before Kenny answered me, and when he did I wished I hadn't asked anything at all. I saw him bite his lower lip and then he swept his hair in front of his face again. He could hide the fact that he was crying, but even if I hadn't seen the tears dripping from his eyes I would have heard it in his shaking voice. "I don't – I don't know, Token."

My body moved before my brain had time to think. I sat straight up, regretting it as soon as the pain flooded every part of me. I gritted my teeth; that, combined with the overload of emotions—relief that Clyde was as okay as he could be, but panic about what exactly was going on with Tweek, among other feelings I couldn't even put words to—also coursing through my system, ended up with my words coming out as a growl when I demanded, "What do you mean you don't _know_?"

Kenny jumped at the sound of my voice, and I didn't blame him. I didn't sound anything like myself. But I couldn't keep myself under any kind of control anymore; the tears I had been managing to hold back for the last five or ten minutes started streaming down my face again and my body started once more to convulse with the force of my sobs. I lost my grip on the cup of water I'd been holding, and I heard it hit the floor. My headache from earlier returned full force, and each time I inhaled I could almost feel the air scraping away at the inside of my throat. I felt, more than saw, Kenny turn to face me again.

"How – the _fuck_ could you not – _know_?" I choked out, my voice ragged. I was having an emotional meltdown. "He's either okay or he's not, you know there's no in between with him. You'd have been able to tell just by _looking_ at him how he's feeling!"

"If I'd seen him, yes," Kenny said, in the same slow, quiet tone he'd been speaking in the entire time he'd been in the room with me. I took a deep, shuddering breath, and almost missed his next words: "But he wasn't there."

"What?" The word burst out of me, loud and shrill, and for the second time in less than half an hour, Kenny's words were a shock to my system. Everything I had been feeling a split-second before just drained out of me and I fell back onto my pillow, still silently crying.

Kenny closed his eyes. He looked exhausted, and when he moved his hand up to grasp a handful of his hair, I could see his whole arm trembling.

"You went to church, Token, we all did. Not everything they told us was bullshit," he whispered. "They got suicide right."

Some part of my mind understood his point and reacted instantly to those words; the hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and I shivered, suddenly cold. But the rest of my brain still hadn't caught up yet, and as I pulled the hospital blanket around me tighter, I found myself wishing I could freeze time, or something, anything to get out of this conversation—I just wasn't exactly sure _why_.

And then Kenny spoke again, and everything finally made a horrible kind of sense.

"Suicide...bars anybody from getting into Heaven." With every word Kenny's voice was getting softer and softer until finally he was barely making any noise at all. I saw him tense a little bit, like he was worried I was going to have a spaz attack again, but I didn't have any energy left at all. I wasn't sure I could feel any kind of emotion anymore. Not after hearing that.

"So he's..." My voice was flat.

"...in Hell, yes." Kenny shook his head, drawing something with his finger on the part of my blanket closest to him. He said something else, but I couldn't hear him; I wasn't even sure if he was talking to me anymore, or just himself. It didn't matter. I wasn't sure I could have paid attention to him even if he was talking to me. I was too busy trying to get the image of a terrified Tweek, wandering around Hell by himself, out of my mind.

Fuck, that wasn't fucking fair. Tweek was fragile enough when he was alive, the last thing he needed was to be in fucking Hell for all eternity. It wasn't like he was some emo kid who had just seen Twilight for the seventh time and decided his life was too much of a burden. He had just lost the one person who mattered more to him than his own _life_ , why should he have to be punished for losing control of himself in a situation like that? Part of me wanted to ask Kenny if God was really so much of an asshole he made innocent people suffer like that, but when I looked at him, at how broken and small and so unlike Kenny he looked, I didn't have the heart to. I couldn't even imagine how hard it had been for him to tell me about where Tweek was, while knowing that I probably wouldn't take it very well. But, again, that was Kenny. A better person than the rest of us, but—I watched as he leaned his head on his hands and his whole body shook—that didn't make him any stronger.

I heard a sound from out in the hall, and looked up at the open doorway. Just two nurses walking by, not Kyle. I sniffled. When he got back, I was going to be the one to tell him about Tweek. Kenny had done enough. I didn't want him to have to go through the pain of letting Kyle know that what Tweek had done to himself had gotten him to the last place he would have ever wanted to be, without anybody to—

"Oh, my God." I hadn't realized I'd spoken out loud until Kenny looked up at me, his face streaked with tears and his blue eyes dull and bloodshot. I blinked, one, twice, eight times in a row as I realized something. "He's not alone...is he?" Not giving Kenny a chance to answer, I continued, my words coming out quickly and almost overlapping. "He – Tweek's – Craig is there, too, he's, they're both – that – _that's_ why he..." My voice cracked. "He knew," I whispered. "He knew what he was doing. He knew where he would go. He just wanted to be with Craig again." My gaze met Kenny's, and I saw that this was the first time he'd even considered that thought too—another sign that he was falling apart; this was the kind of observational thing Kenny would usually be the first person to pick up on.

"Can you go?" I asked, feeling my heart start to beat faster. "I'm – please, can you just – make sure they're...?"

Kenny nodded slowly, his eyes darting back and forth; he looked like he was thinking about something really hard. He pushed himself up off the chair, and for half a second I saw some of the old Kenny in his eyes; the look he got when he was determined about something.

"Yeah," he said. "I have to – I was going to go there after I saw you and—" He glanced at the door. "—Kyle."

"If you want to wait for Kyle..." I started, but Kenny shook his head.

"No, I can't, I have to – I have to do this first," he said. "Tell Kyle I'm sorry, but that I had to go, and I'll be back as soon as I can." He bit his lip, and then added, "I'll make sure they find each other, Token. Everything is going to be okay. I promise."

I nodded, but I didn't understand how he could be so sure; it didn't feel to me like anything was ever going to be anything close to okay ever again. But I didn't know—it wasn't like this had happened before. Maybe time _would_ help. Kenny nodded back and me, and with one more glance at the bed beside me, he was gone. I didn't want to think about how he was going to get down to Hell, so I let the selfish douchebag side of me take over and just be glad he was going.

And glad that, out of all of us, at least Tweek and Craig were going to get a happy ending.


	24. Because You Love Me: Tweek

"Tweek...?"

_Oh, Christ._ I squeezed my eyes shut so tightly I started seeing spots inside my head, and turned away, flinching as I felt fingers just barely brush my arm. No, no, no, Jesus, I didn't – Craig was never supposed to know, he was never supposed to – to find out what I'd done to – to myself. He – he would ask questions, questions I couldn't answer, not without him hating me in the end for being so – so _weak_ , God, Craig – Craig couldn't _stand_ weakness, and I _was_ weak, I knew – I _knew_ I was, but I couldn't be there without him, I _couldn't_. It – nothing would have been – I just _couldn't_ —

"Dude, you seriously pissed him off." I vaguely heard Cartman's voice, and I started rocking back and forth. Oh, Christ, I knew it, I _knew_ I would make Craig hate me, Jesus, all I'd wanted to do was see him again, all I'd wanted was to be able to be – be _with_ him, but now, now I _was_ with him but he was going to find out _how_ and, God, he was _angry_.

"I didn't fucking do anything, you asshole, it was _you_!" I jerked sideways, whimpering, at Craig's shout and tried to scrunch myself into a ball so maybe he would just ignore me and go away, and leave – leave me _alone_ , oh, God, I didn't want to be alone but there was no way he was going to stay with me _now_ , I was going to be alone for _ever_ down here, the _real_ kind of forever. I would never have anybody who – who cared about me, never – never, ever _again_.

" _Me_? What the fuck did _I_ do?"

I felt the table shake and jumped again, inadvertently opening my eyes to see Cartman leaning across the table, holding – oh, Jesus – one of those –those plastic forks you get at restaurants, and he was looking at Craig like – like he wanted to kill him, but he – he couldn't, not here, not in – not where we _were_ , but it didn't look like he cared about that, it just looked like he wanted to stab Craig with the _fork_ , and, Christ, even _plastic_ forks were _sharp_ , he could – he could still _hurt_ him. Before I could register what I was doing, I'd reached out and batted the fork away from him, freezing as soon as my brain caught up with my arm.

"What the _fuck_?" Cartman demanded.

"Gh – J – J – Jesus, n – ngh!" I wanted to – to run, to get away from him, but my body wouldn't move, I was – I was just _frozen_ , leaning across the table with my arm still in the air and, oh, _God_ , so – _so_ close to _Craig_. I shuddered, trying desperately not to – not to touch him. Tears started streaming down my face and I closed my eyes, shaking my head from side to side violently. Cartman was going to – to – Jesus, maybe he _could_ – maybe he knew a way that he could kill me _again_ , kill me so much I wouldn't even be able to think or _be_ or – or _anything_. He was – he was going to _end_ my entire existence and Craig – God, Craig was just going to – to _let_ him, and I couldn't _move_ , I couldn't do _anything_.

"Shut _up_ , you _asshole_!" I felt Craig move, and flinched, just waiting for him to pick up the fork and stab me with it. My arm finally got the message my brain had been trying to send it and I was able to move enough to yank my arm back, but I was still too frozen to leave the table. Oh, Christ, maybe that was part of the plan, maybe Cartman and Craig were working _together_ , and they'd – they'd _done_ something to me to make it so I couldn't move, so I would just stay still while they – they _stabbed_ me. I took a deep breath, shivering, and huddled in a ball, anticipating the pain. Nothing could be more painful than what my emotions were doing to me. At – at least if I didn't – didn't exist anymore, at all, ever, I couldn't – couldn't be so miserable.

"You're so – _fuck_ ," Craig was saying. My heart was pounding in my ears and the tears just kept flowing. I was so – so _what?_

"You're so _fucking_ retarded. It's _your_ fucking fault, you dumbass, if you hadn't gotten us fucking _caught_ , you wouldn't have fucking pissed him off so much and then he wouldn't have been vin _dic_ tive enough to do _this_!" Somewhere, in some part of my mind, the things Craig was saying didn't make a lot of sense. I didn't know who 'he' was, or what I had done to make him so angry, but that didn't matter, all that mattered was that Craig was angry and that I had made him angry and that—

"Oh, it's _my_ fault Frenchy figured it out? _I_ didn't make your fucking boyfriend _kill_ himself, _Craig,_ so _you_ can just _suck my balls_!"

"What...?" I mumbled, my words drowned out by Craig's much louder, " _What_ the _fuck_ did you just say?"

"You heard me. It's not _my_ fault he's such a—"

The table shook again, more violently than before, and I opened one of my eyes in time to see Craig slam Cartman's head onto the hard surface. I jumped, nearly falling off my chair and then stumbled to my feet and lurched backwards. After a few steps I tripped, coming down hard on my knees on the sharp rocks that made up the floor of the mall, the same rocks that made up the ground outside. I whimpered at the stinging pain, but I was still focused on Craig. He – he wouldn't be attacking Cartman if – if they were working together, would he? Oh, Jesus, that – that would just mean he was alone, that he was going to kill me again by himself, but – but that didn't – something Cartman said before didn't – that wouldn't make – sense... Their words were playing back in my head, and I tried to make sense of them.

' _It's my fault Frenchy figured it out_?' That was – Cartman had said that... Frenchy... That – that was what they called – _Christophe_.

"Ghh!" I stared as Cartman broke free of Craig's grip and started shouting at him, but I couldn't register what he was saying. I couldn't – I couldn't comprehend anything going on around me. They – they hadn't been talking about – about me? Oh, God. A tiny sliver of hope started rising up inside me. Craig hadn't – they had been talking about Christophe? It was because of –of Christophe, that Craig was so angry, not – not me...? He – Christophe, he was the one who had told them why – why I was here, he'd told _Craig_ and I'd been – I'd been so _sure_ that Craig would hate me for it, almost – almost as much as I hated my _self_ for being the – the way I was.

But – could – could he really – could Craig still care, even after...? It – _sounded_ like – like maybe... And he – he'd seemed so _happy_ , when – when I'd first seen him here, and he – he'd _said_... I closed my eyes, shuddering again as I remembered that day, those words on that blackboard. The things he'd said, he'd _promised_ that he would never – never... My whole body twitched and, Christ, I could feel my heartbeat, I could _hear_ it, it was so _loud_. I could even hear its thumping over Cartman yelling things at Craig. Leaning forward, I buried my head in my hands and started rocking back and forth on my knees. Oh, God, please, Jesus, don't l – let him hate me, _please_ – if there was any chance at all that he – that I wouldn't – wouldn't lose him again – please, _please_.

I heard a loud thud, and then a crunching sound coming towards me. I cringed, trying to make myself even smaller. Oh, God, what if – what if Cartman had done something to Craig and now he was coming to do something even worse to _me_ , Jesus, what if he _knew_ that it would be easier for me to not exist at all than to exist without Craig? He'd probably learned all sorts of evil things he could do since he – he'd been here. What if instead of making me not exist he was going to – to—

x I froze as the crunching footsteps stopped in front of me and there was silence. I couldn't think, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't do anything, oh Christ...

"Tweek...? Tweeker, are you okay? Look at me." Craig's voice—not Cartman's, Cartman wasn't coming to do horrible things to me, it was Craig talking to me—cut through the deafening sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears. He sounded – oh, Christ, I hoped I wasn't hearing things – he sounded worried.

Slowly, and without looking up, I shook my head. "Ngrhh!" I mumbled into my hands, the word 'no' coming out in a mess of gibberish.

I heard the sound of shoes sliding on the gravel of the floor, and then I felt Craig's hand touch my shoulder.

"Look at me," he said again, and I could hear his voice shaking, but not – not the kind of shaking like before, when he was yelling at Cartman, this was different. His voice – his tone, it wasn't angry, it was – he sounded like he had back _then_ , oh, God, he sounded the way he had in – in the classroom, last year. When he was telling me he was sorry... Oh, Christ, if he – that had to mean he didn't hate me, didn't – didn't it? If he didn't s – _sound_ angry?

I hiccupped, my whole body convulsing, and lifted my head, keeping my eyes closed for a few extra seconds. If he was anybody – _any_ body else, I knew that not sounding angry wouldn't mean anything—the government had trained spies everywhere, God, how was anyone supposed to _trust_ anyone, Christ, even your _parents_ could be out to kill you, these days—but this... This was _Craig_ , he was different. I trusted _him_.

Still, when I finally opened my eyes, I couldn't look right at him, staring at the rocks on the floor instead.

"Grgh," I mumbled. His grip on my shoulder tightened, and I shuddered violently, "Nghh! I – I'm s – so _sorry_ ," I blurted out, my own strangled voice sounding foreign to my ears. "Oh, God, Craig I'm – I'm _sorry_ , I d – didn't, I couldn't, I _couldn't_ – I w – woke up and you – ngh! – you were _gone_ , and I couldn't _be_ there without y – you, oh, God, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I – you were never – I never wanted you to _know_ , but – but he—" I jerked sideways, and my words got stuck in my throat before I could finish my sentence. I coughed, harshly, tears of pain mixing with tears of misery.

I felt Craig's other hand on my other shoulder, and then he was wrapping both of his arms around me and gently pulling me towards him. I let myself fall against him, resting my head against his chest and clinging to him with everything I had. Oh, God, I never wanted to let go of him, never, not ever... I sniffled, a small sob escaping me, and held on tighter.

"Shh," he was whispering. "God, Tweeker, you don't need to be sorry."

"B – but—" I started, the word bursting out of me with another sob.

"I promise," Craig interrupted, still in a whisper. "You're here, Tweeker. It doesn't matter how, what matters is that you're here, with me, that we're together. Forever. I love you. Nothing could ever change that."

"I love y – you..." Oh, God, I couldn't stop crying, but I was so – I felt so _much_ , God, I'd been so scared, but Craig was still – he still _cared,_ he was still _here_ , he wasn't going to leave me, and as long as I had that, as long as I had _him_ , I felt – I felt safe. I pulled back from him just enough so I could look up at him, but not far enough that I had to let go. His eyes were closed and his head was down, but I could see tears streaming down his face and dripping from his chin. Oh, no, Jesus, _he_ was crying, I didn't want _him_ to cry, I hated seeing him cry, it wasn't something – he was never supposed to feel bad enough to cry.

Slowly, I let go of his shirt with one hand and moved my shaking arm up so my fingers were just brushing his hair. I never told him, but I always liked it so much better when he didn't wear his blue hat. I loved his hair; it was so black, like – like coffee, without all the creams and sugars people put in it all the time. The best kind of coffee. So much about Craig made me think of coffee.

I lowered my arm, pressing myself closer to him. Oh, Jesus, I still couldn't believe that this was real, that I was really with him again. God, I hoped I wasn't just – just dreaming, I _needed_ this to be real, more than I'd ever needed anything else, ever.

I heard a noise behind me, and I jumped, squeezing my eyes shut and holding on to Craig tightly. Oh, Christ, what if that was Cartman? I didn't know what Craig had done to him before but it couldn't have been anything good, Cartman was probably _furious_ , and he'd probably gotten himself an army of demons and now they were all going to come attack us and oh _God_ , he was going to try to take Craig away from me— I felt Craig raise his head, his chin brushing against the top of my head, and I tensed, my heart racing. No, Christ, no, please, they couldn't take him, not now, not _again_...

"Hey," I heard Craig say. From the tone of his voice it didn't _sound_ like there were demons after him...

"Oh, thank God."

I looked up at the familiar voice, not a demon, Kenny wasn't a demon. At least, I didn't _think_ he was, God, I hoped not. No, if he was a demon he would probably tell people, I didn't think Kenny would be able to keep that a secret. Even if he was, though, I didn't think he would work for Cartman, so he wouldn't be evil, I wouldn't have to worry about him taking Craig away from me. He was friends with Craig, and I trusted Craig, he wouldn't make friends with demons.

"Wrong one," Craig said, his voice still shaky. I looked up at him again and he smiled down at me faintly before leaning down and kissing my forehead. A few more tears spilled out of my eyes, but they were different tears, they weren't because I was sad or scared, they were because Craig still loved me, even after what I'd done. He rested his chin on my head, and I could feel the vibrations of his voice when he spoke. "Satan."

Kenny shrugged. He was so pale, he was whiter than _me_ , I knew that wasn't healthy, oh, God, maybe Kenny had died from the plague and that was why he was here. Could he infect people with the plague if they were already dead? Jesus, I hoped not, God, I didn't want to have the _plague_ forever. "You found him," he said, gesturing to me.

"He found me," Craig said, and I felt his arms tighten around me.

Kenny nodded. "As long as you're together," he said softly. "That's all that matters, right?" His voice was scratchy, and when he brushed some hair out of his eyes I saw how bloodshot they were. He blinked, and looked past me and Craig, but it seemed more like he was looking off into the distance than looking at anything in particular.

"That's all that has to matter." I felt Craig's chin brush the top of my head and knew he was nodding too.

Kenny didn't say anything for a few minutes and I was starting to wonder if he'd even heard anything Craig had said, but then he glanced at me before refocusing on Craig. He shoved his hands in his pockets and said, "Token wanted me to make sure you were together."

"Ghh!" My whole body jerked and I sat up straight, smacking my head on Craig's chin. I bit my tongue, tasting blood, but at Craig's groan of pain, I whipped my head around to face him, my own blood forgotten. "Oh, God, I'm sorry!" He was rubbing his chin, and I stared at him, my eyes wide. _Oh, Jesus, please don't hate me for that..._

He caught my eye and shook his head, reaching out and taking hold of one of my shaking hands. "No," he said. "It's fine."

"Are you – ngh! – are you sure?" At Craig's nod, I almost relaxed, but then I remembered why exactly I'd hit his chin with the top of my head in the first place. "Oh, God, Token!" I gasped. Not just Token. "Kyle! Oh, Christ, they – _God_ , are they – I'm – I—?"

Now I turned to face Kenny again. I couldn't get the words out, saying them would make what I did real and even though I had Craig and he didn't hate me and we were okay and together, I felt _horrible_ about leaving Token and Kyle all alone. God, and they _were_ all alone, it had only been the three of us and then I'd been so – so _selfish_ and done what I did and Christ, I hadn't even been sure if I would even be with Craig when I'd done it, I'd just done it because I couldn't handle feeling the way I had been feeling and, Jesus, thank _God_ I'd found him but now I was down here and it was just the two of _them_ up there and I felt _awful_. How were they? How was _Token_ , God, he'd looked like he was in so much pain and he was supposed to be one of my best friends and I'd just _left_ him, and _Kyle_ , Kyle had none of _his_ best friends even _left_ , and I'd gone and left him even _more_ alone? God, what kind of _friend_ was I?

I pulled away from Craig and wrapped both my arms around myself. My whole body was trembling, almost convulsing, and I wanted to cry but I couldn't, I had no tears left. My breathing was shaky and shallow and everything in me was telling me to cling to Craig again, but I couldn't do that. I didn't _deserve_ Craig, I didn't deserve anybody.

"They should hate me." They should all hate me, every single one of them.

"No, they shouldn't," I heard Craig say from behind me. I felt the tips of his fingers brush my shoulder and I tensed, moving a little farther away from him. He sounded, God, he sounded so sure, but how could he know? He was _here_ , he hadn't seen Token and Kyle, he hadn't seen how much in pain Token was in, he hadn't seen how horribly miserable Kyle looked. I turned my head just a little so I could see him out of the corner of my eye, but before I could argue with him, Kenny started talking again.

"Token doesn't hate you, Tweek," he said, stepping backwards onto a chair and sitting down on one of the tables. "He's worried about you. He understands why you – why you're here, and all he wanted me to do was come down here and make sure you had Craig. I think..." He paused, looking down briefly. "I think all that matters to him is that you're okay, and I think he knew you wouldn't be—" His eyes moved over my head and I knew he was looking at Craig. "—without him."

"But I'm here now." Craig's voice was quiet, but I could hear so much in those four words, he might as well have shouted them at me. "Remember, Tweeker? All that matters now is that we're together." He stretched his arm out towards me again, and this time I didn't move away when his fingers hit my shoulder. He slid his hand down my arm until he was holding my hand again, and I held on to his tightly.

I looked up, at Kenny again. "He doesn't hate me?"

"No," he said. "He doesn't."

I nodded once, slowly, my eyes drifting down to the rocks on the floor. "Kyle doesn't hate me either?"

"I didn't see Kyle." Kenny lifted one of his legs and rested his foot on the back of the chair in front of him. "He wasn't with Token when I got there. He was calling his mom."

Before I could even register what Kenny had just said, I heard Craig inhale sharply from behind me, and then I felt his arms around me and he pulled me back so he was holding me close to him. And it was then, when I was close enough to hear and feel his heartbeat, that Kenny's words hit me. Kyle was calling his mom. His parents. _Parents._

Oh, God, _my_ parents...

I was wrong, I did still have tears left. I could feel them streaming down my face even as I collapsed limply against Craig. I couldn't talk, I couldn't make any kind of noise, I couldn't even think. I didn't know what to do. I shivered; all of sudden I was freezing cold. Craig's body was warm, and I moved as close to him as I could get, every centimeter feeling like a mile, and he held me tighter.

Kenny spoke, his voice sounding very far away. "Where are Cartman and 'Tophe?"

"Fuck if I know where Frenchy is," Craig said. He sounded far away too, but that didn't make sense, he was right in front of me... "Cartman's over there."

A pause, and then a sound like Kenny had almost laughed, but when he spoke again there was only seriousness in his voice. "When he wakes up, I need you to find 'Tophe. And when you do, I need you all to stay together. I mean it."

Craig made a noise of protest. "I'm pretty sure he'd rather everybody just fuck off."

"He always feels like that. Just find him, Craig, okay?"

Another pause. "Okay."

My eyes closed of their own volition. It felt like I wasn't in control of my body anymore. I had no energy. My head started aching and my first thought was that it was a lack of caffeine headache, but the minute I thought of coffee I felt sick. I shivered again. No energy, no coffee... I had nothing but cold and tears.

"God, Tweeker, you're freezing." Craig's voice sounded even farther away than before. I felt him lean back for a second, and then something warm and fuzzy was being put around me. I opened one eye just a little and saw a red T-shirt in front of me, and a black sleeve hanging in front of my eyes. Craig's hoodie.

_Not just cold and tears,_ I thought, right before everything went black. _I have Craig._

_I'll always have Craig._


	25. I Didn't Know I'd Love You So Much: Clyde

I stopped just outside the door to Taco Loco, leaning against the cool glass of the front window and closing my eyes. It was so quiet up here, all the time – even here at Taco Loco, which I didn't understand, because seriously, Mitch Hedberg – and the silence made every single noise seem that much louder. I was all too aware of that fact, and that was the reason I'd come all the way over to Taco Loco right now; it was really far away from most of the other things in Heaven, which was what I needed. I couldn't deal with being around everyone. Mitch, earlier, had told me he picked way over here for his restaurant because he liked the quiet. Normally, I didn't. I'd never been a big fan of silence; I liked everything so much better when there was noise. A lot of really loud noise, almost deafening, that made it hard to think. That was why I liked the kinds of video games I did – shooting zombies sure made for a lot of noise – and a big reason why Token was my best friend. That kid could yell the roof off of a house if he wanted to.

I swallowed hard, clamping my mouth shut and shaking my head. God, I missed Token, _so_ much. I would give anything to be able to see him again. I needed to talk to him. I needed my best friend. I couldn't handle what was happening to me alone, and it wasn't anything I could talk about to just anyone. Butters knew what was going on, but I'd already freaked out at him and probably scared him, and he just wasn't the right person to really talk to. We'd never really been friends, close or otherwise, and right now I needed someone who knew me almost better than I knew myself to help me. And the only person who qualified for that was someone I didn't have any more.

I took a deep, shaky breath, and ran one of my hands through my hair. My eyes were watery and I blinked, trying to keep tears from falling. Not here. I couldn't cry here. With a quick glance around me at the emptiness, I reached out for the wooden door handle and pulled the door open.

It was just as empty inside as it was outside, and while it still confused me that both times I'd come here there had been nobody else, for now I was just grateful. The area behind the counter was empty, but I could see the swinging door that led to the back kitchen slowly moving back and forth, and I figured Mitch had just gone back to get something or do something. I sat down on one of the stools that went along the whole front of the counter and waited for him to come back. This place looked so much like a bar. It wasn't, obviously, since all Mitch served were tacos, but it looked like one. In front of me, lined up neatly all along the back wall, where in a bar all the bottles of the different types of alcohol they served there would be, was a bunch of taco ingredients in little jars. I leaned forward to try to see what was in all the jars, just to try to distract myself from everything going on in my head.

The normal stuff was there, like hamburger and cheese and green onions, but there was a lot of stuff I'd never even thought of putting in a taco before: ketchup, for one. I wrinkled my nose. That was disgusting. Who would put ketchup on a taco? Jesus Christ, that was as bad as Craig putting ketchup on his toast.

That was all it took. The second an actual thought about Craig crossed my mind, I fell apart. I'd been doing so _well_ at blocking out everything I didn't want to be thinking about, I'd almost convinced myself that I would be able to be okay. But I wasn't going to be okay. I collapsed across the counter, my head in my arms, and started sobbing, letting out everything I'd been pushing back inside me for so long. Some part of me had known I was going to cry this whole time; subconsciously that was probably the main reason why I'd come here, to the one place in Heaven that wasn't frequented by a whole ton of people. I didn't like people seeing me cry. It made me feel awkward and stupid on top of whatever sadness I was already feeling, and I didn't want to feel that way now. It was bad enough that I'd let Butters see me cry. I just needed somewhere I could just be me and be miserable and not feel dumb about being miserable.

How had I not noticed before? Was I really _that_ stupid? I knew I cared about Craig a lot, but I cared about Token and Tweek a lot too, the three of them were pretty much my best friends, but I'd just thought it was normal to care that much. And okay, sure, I'd never worried about Token or Tweek's happiness as much as I worried about Craig's, but Token and Tweek both came from really good families, not crazy psycho families that weren't even really _family_ , like Craig. Craig _needed_ people to worry about his happiness. It just made sense to me to be that concerned with what made him happy, I hadn't even ever considered that I might – that I might feel like _that_.

But being up here with Stan, who so obviously was in love with Kyle and miserable without him, and Butters, who made no secret of wishing he was with Cartman... How unhappy they were just kept seeming so much like how unhappy I felt, and it all had just gotten me thinking, about how when I wished I wasn't dead, in every single scenario I imagined would be happening if the plane hadn't crashed, I'd been with Craig. If the plane hadn't crashed, we'd all be in New York right now and I'd be hanging out in the hotel room with Craig playing House of the Dead on my Wii. If the plane hadn't crashed, I'd be with Craig, Token, and Tweek and we'd be hanging out the way we used to hang out, all four of us together. Being able to hang out with Craig was one of the reasons I'd been so looking forward to the trip in the first place.

I sniffled, wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt. Not that it did much good; my sleeve was almost soaking wet. God, I wished I hadn't figured this out now. Or ever. Not figuring it out ever would have been nice too. I could have just happily went through life having a crush on one of my best friends without ever realizing it and then I wouldn't have to feel the way I felt right now. There weren't even _words_ for how I felt right now. This _sucked_. What was I supposed to do now? I would never see Craig again, so should I try to just forget about him and this whole thing? How would I ever start trying to do that? _Everything_ , I realized with a sniffle, everything that had ever made me happy had involved Craig in some way or another. Video games, laser tag, God, even when Kenny and I would watch pornos, there would be a point where we'd get bored with it and just start talking and Craig came up in conversation more often than not. And, more often than not, it was me who brought him up...

Okay, yeah, I was officially _that_ stupid. I tried to breathe normally, but there was no way that was going to happen right now. I let out another loud sob, burying my head deeper in my arms.

Had Token known? He had to have known _something_ , he wouldn't just have started teasing me the way he had been recently for no reason. He must have noticed something I hadn't. And if he'd noticed, that meant other people could have noticed too. Had Craig noticed? Was _that_ the real reason why he'd been hanging out with nobody but Tweek for the last year, not work? Fuck. _Fuck_. Had _Tweek_ noticed? Oh, my God, what if he had, what if Tweek had figured it out and _that_ was why I hadn't seen Craig for so long? After the whole Thomas thing, I couldn't blame him if that was what had happened, if he'd been afraid of me breaking them up again, but even if Tweek didn't know it, Token had gotten it right when he'd told me I was never getting between them. He'd been making fun of me – of course, he made fun of me all the time – but it was true, and maybe that was why, I thought now with a sniffle, maybe that was why I'd had such a strong reaction to his words. Subconsciously, I must have known how I felt, but just...refused to acknowledge it. And no wonder, I would still be refusing to acknowledge it if I could, but I couldn't...

Maybe I wasn't as in love with my best friend as Stan was with his, but it was more than clear now that I felt way more than friendship for Craig. And it was just as clear to me that I was completely _screwed_ , and that I would be completely screwed even if we were all sitting in a hotel room in New York right now having fun together. It was Craig and Tweek, not Craig and me. It had always been Craig and Tweek, Token was right, nothing was ever changing that. Not even death, apparently, not according to Kenny anyway. According to him, since Tweek had killed himself, he would go to Hell, which for once, I was pretty sure, would be exactly where he wanted to be. He would get to see Craig, he would get to be around him. He would get to be with him again. I wanted to hate him so much but I couldn't, I knew I couldn't. I could just worry about all my best friends, hate myself for the way I felt, and cry in the middle of fucking Taco Loco in front of one of the coolest comedians ever who probably thought I was a crybaby loser.

Goddammit, it wasn't fucking _fair_.

"Whoa, hey, kid, you okay?"

I lifted my head at the sound of Mitch's voice. Catching sight of myself in the mirror on the wall, I cringed. I looked awful. I felt awful, though, so I guess I just matched. I shook my head no, God, no I wasn't okay. I closed my eyes but it didn't help; tears leaked out of them anyway. "I c – ca – can't do this," I said, my words coming out in a miserable stutter. "I don't want to _be here_."

I just barely made out the sound of Mitch sighing over my crying. "I don't want you to be here either."

His words caught me off guard and I didn't know how to react. That was fitting. I didn't know how to react to anything I was feeling; I might as well not have any idea how to function in any other situation. I looked up, wiping my eyes with my other sleeve – which was just as soaking wet as the other one had been a minute ago – and just stared at him. After a second he shook his head.

"No, no, not like that," he said. "That isn't what I meant. I just meant, kid, look at you. You're, what, eighteen?"

"Soon," I mumbled, not even sure if I was telling the truth or not. I'd lost so much track of time. I could have had my birthday already and never even known.

Mitch nodded. "That's what I'm saying. Guys your age should be hanging out and having fun, getting yourselves and each other in trouble, and all that stuff that makes life worth living. Not here. I can't stand when something happens to you young ones." There was a pause, and then, "If you don't mind me asking, what happened to you, exactly?"

I shook my head, making my hair fall in front of my eyes. "My f – friends and I – we were flying to New York. The plane – crashed."

"Aw, jeez, see, that's what I hate." Mitch shook his head, sitting down on a stool behind the counter. "I wouldn't be okay after something like that either, I'm sorry, kid."

I shrugged, hardly even registering what I was doing as I started to chew on my thumbnail. "'S'not your fault."

"You need to talk about it?" Mitch started reorganizing the little shelf of spices beside him on the counter. "I'll understand if you don't, you know, it still might be too soon. But I know how tough it is, you know, for something to happen and for you to never – never really get to say goodbye to the people you care about. Weighs heavy on a person's soul, you know?"

The little jar of oregano fell over and rolled across the counter towards me, but I made no move to stop it. "I wish," I said, quietly, staring down at the counter. Tears dripped from my eyes and made little puddles on the wooden surface. "I wish I knew what to do." I looked up at Mitch, pushing my hair out of my face so I could see better. "I miss—" The word got caught in my throat and I started to cough.

"You miss your friends and family. I understand," Mitch said. He reached underneath the counter and then set a plastic bottle of water in front of me. Picking up the jar of oregano and setting it back on top of the cayenne pepper where it belonged, he continued. "I remember when I first got here—"

"No," I interrupted, the word combining with a cough. I unscrewed the cap of the water bottle with shaking hands and took a sip. It was really cold water, and felt good; I hadn't realized how sore my throat was. "I mean – I mean, yes. I miss my friends – my _best_ friend." I swallowed hard. God, I wondered how Token was doing. I hadn't been on the computers since what felt like forever ago, and I hadn't even been _near_ them since Stan had found out about Tweek. "But I – it's – complicated."

Mitch just raised his eyebrows and looked around the empty restaurant. "If you need an ear, kid, I've got two of 'em, and all the time in the world."

I sniffled for what felt like the millionth time. No matter how hard I tried to stop crying, I just couldn't. Maybe I really did need to talk to somebody. I couldn't talk to Token, there was no way I would ever be able to get his advice on what I should do now, and keeping everything inside of me couldn't be good for me. I wasn't good enough friends with Butters or Kyle to feel comfortable having a real conversation with them about what was wrong with me – even though Butters already knew a big part of it – and Kenny, the only other person I'd ever come close to discussing my love life with, had gone back down to see everyone else, because _he_ could do that. He had to give Cartman the letter Butters had written him. I was so mad at myself for not thinking of writing a letter to Token or Craig or just _something_.

Mitch was kind of a stranger, but not really. I'd seen him on TV, and in interviews and stuff, but I didn't really _know_ him. He was familiar enough that I was pretty sure I could talk to him, but I wasn't close enough to him to worry about what he would think of me after finding out what was going on. If he thought I was stupid or anything, I just never had to come back to Taco Loco again. I wouldn't have to see him regularly and feel like an idiot every time he looked at me. I chewed on my thumbnail while I tried to figure out what to say.

"I'm not," I started, kicking at the bottom of the stool I was sitting on. "There were ten of us. On the plane, and only – only two of them survived. Three," I corrected quickly, shaking my head. "Three of them. And, um. One of them was my – Token, my best friend."

Mitch didn't say anything; he just leaned forward a little and nodded like he was waiting for me to say more. I was caught off guard; I'd been expecting him to say something, apologize or something. I wasn't used to someone just listening to me. It was a lot easier not to feel stupid about being upset when the person you were talking to didn't say anything. I took a deep breath, and then continued, "The other two were, um, Kyle – it was because of him that we were on the plane, it was his birthday present, it was supposed to be – we were supposed to be going to New York, but, um." I paused to sip some more water. "We didn't. And, um, then there was Tweek." I concentrated on trying to breathe normally; thinking about Tweek hurt almost as much as thinking about Craig. "Tweek was d – dating Craig."

I saw Mitch's expression change just a little, just in his eyes. I wasn't sure if it was because of what I'd said, or if it was because he'd actually been paying enough attention to my words to see that there was no way this story could end happily ever after. I couldn't wait to find out though – now that I'd started talking, I couldn't stop. I needed to get this all out. I shut my eyes. This next part hurt so much to talk about I could almost feel physical pain.

"We all - me and Token and Tweek and Craig, we hung out all the time. Token was my best friend, but Craig and Tweek – we were all really good friends. I really—" My voice cracked. "I really miss them."

"I can tell," Mitch said softly. "They sound like they were really important to you."

"They were – they _are_ ," I said through a sob. "They _are_ really important to me, they were the b – best friends I've ever..." I trailed off, again trying to focus on my breathing – I was almost hyperventilating. "I've never had f – friends like them, and n – now they're _gone_ , Token's on Earth, Craig and Tweek are in Hell and _together_ and I'm never going to see any of them again, and I can't _do_ this, this isn't _fair_." I buried my head in my arms again. I could feel my whole body shaking.

"Tweek's—" Mitch started, looking confused, but I cut him off.

"He k – killed himself." I said without lifting my head. I wasn't even sure if Mitch could hear me anymore, but I kept talking. "Stan, he's Kyle's best friend, he was on a computer before, and heard Kyle and Token talking about it. And then Kenny told us – me, Stan, and Butters – that that meant Tweek would go to – to Hell. He gets to be with Craig again and I'm still alone." I laughed, a bitter, sarcastic laugh that sounded more like something that would come out of Christophe's mouth than mine, and that scared me. I didn't want to turn into the kind of person Christophe was.

"Kenny..." Mitch said slowly. "Kenny McCormick?"

That made me look up. "You know K – Kenny?"

Mitch nodded. "He comes in here sometimes. He seems like he'd be a pretty good friend."

"Yeah," I mumbled. "We hung out sometimes. He's fun."

"Sounds to me like you're not as alone as you might think," Mitch said, still in that same quiet tone. "Not if you've got someone like Kenny watchin' your back. And didn't you say you had some other friends up here with you?"

"Yeah but." I sniffled again and lifted my head, wiping my nose with my sleeve. I shook my head at Mitch. "They're n – not Craig." I couldn't say anything else, and I realized suddenly that I couldn't talk about Craig without completely falling apart. Not now.

It took Mitch a few seconds, but then I saw understanding fill his eyes. I was grateful for that; there was no way I was going to be able to explain the Craig thing now. I had no energy or strength left to do anything. I let my head drop down onto my arms again and closed my eyes, silently letting the waves of tears come. I didn't even have the energy to make noise when I cried.

"Oh..." was all Mitch said for a long time. At least, it felt like a long time to me. It probably wasn't, it was probably only a few minutes before he said, "I'm sorry, kid. Is there anything I can do?"

"Nngh," I said, my voice sounding muffled even to me. "I'm s – sorry for getting your c – counter wet."

"It's an old counter," Mitch said. "You sure I can't get you anything? More water, a taco, anything?"

I sniffled once again, loudly. "Maybe – maybe a taco?"

"Sure thing, kid." Mitch nodded and turned to grab taco shells from the shelf behind him.

"C – Clyde," I said, tipping the bottle of water carefully to take another drink. "I'm Clyde. Th – thank you for l – listening."

"Any time, Clyde," Mitch said. "I'll always be around if you need to talk some more. You know. If you're ready."

I knew he meant if I needed to talk about Craig. "Thank you," I said again, quietly. I wasn't sure if I would ever be ready to talk about Craig, but it was nice to know that if I ever was, I always had someone there who would just listen. Sometimes all you need is just someone to listen to you.


	26. Do You Know What It Feels Like: Craig

"So what exactly are we supposed to do if we _find_ Frenchy?" Cartman demanded from behind me. He was breathing hard and I could hear him stumbling over the rocks. Big surprise. I didn't think he'd ever walked this fast in his whole miserable life. Death. Whatever. "Beg him to come back?"

As much as I hated to admit it, he had a point. What the fuck was I supposed to say to Christophe? Assuming we found him; this was Christophe we were talking about. Being elusive was part of his job. But fuck if I was going to let Cartman know I agreed with him.I just shrugged, holding on to Tweek's hand tighter as we passed a big crowd of people and I felt my blond shiver. I saw Cheryl and Vince among all the people, and it took all my willpower not to either run in the opposite direction or go beat the shit out of both of them for being so goddamn self-righteous. Behind me, Cartman kept right on talking, and I was pretty sure it wouldn't have mattered to him if I'd answered his question or not, he just wanted to hear the sound of his own voice. Typical. Fuck, I hated him so much.

"I mean, in case you didn't notice, _Craig,_ he tried to fuck up your little lovefest and then left _us_. He obviously doesn't want to be around us, so what the fuck are we running all over the goddamn place trying to find him for?"

I stopped walking. Tweek staggered forward a few steps, but I was still holding his hand, and I gently pulled him back beside me. Letting go of his hand, I slung my arm around his shoulders and turned so we were both facing Cartman. He was standing there in front of us, his hair sticking to his forehead with either grease or sweat – I wasn't sure, and either way it was fucking disgusting – panting like a fucking dog and glaring at me like this whole fucking thing was all my fault.

"Would you just shut the _fuck_ up?" I said angrily. "You _know_ why we're looking for him."

"What, because Kenny said so?" Cartman rolled his eyes. "God, _Craig_ , are you that clueless? He's poor, _and_ he's dead! This is obviously just another one of his stupid little games because he has nothing better to do!"

I ground my teeth together, forcing myself to stay still and not knock his fat ass unconscious again. I couldn't help flipping him off though. He sputtered something incoherent at me, but I wasn't even listening. Fuck, for one of the people who hung out with Kenny the most, Cartman knew nothing about him. Not that that his ignorance should come as a surprise to me – I mean, fuck, this was Cartman, he didn't know shit about anything or anyone. Except _maybe_ Butters. "I got the impression that it was a _little_ more serious than that, Fatass."

"You don't know anything, Craig! That's exactly what he wants you to think!" He gestured wildly in the air and I felt Tweek flinch beside me. We were at least five feet away from his flailing fat hands, so it wasn't like he would have hit us or anything, but I still narrowed my eyes at him and moved slightly so I was in front of Tweek. I had to protect him in case the idiot got any closer. I wouldn't put it past Fatass to try to fuck with Tweek to get me to take him seriously. Not that I _would_ take him seriously – ever, anything that came out of his mouth was nine tenths bullshit and one tenth sheer idiocy. If he took one step closer to my blond, if he even _looked_ at Tweek the wrong way, I would make him regret it.

For now, I settled for rolling my eyes at him and flipping him off one more time before shoving my free hand in my pocket. "Were you born with that one brain cell or is that what the surgery was for?"

Cartman froze, his arms hanging in midair and his mouth open like a retard, and just stared at me for a second before screeching, " _Craig_ , I'm _seriously_! He—"

"Seri- _ous_." I interrupted before he could keep going with his dumbass theory, whatever the fuck it was. "You're seri- _ous_ , not serious- _ly_. Learn fucking English, Fatass."

"Goddammit!" Cartman yelled, lunging forward. "Stop being an asshole and listen to me! I know how his kind operates!"

"Shut _up_!" I let go of Tweek's hand and nudged him farther behind me, and then I stepped up until I was right in Cartman's disgusting face. I forced myself to look right into his eyes while I spoke. "I don't _care_ ," I said, trying – and epically failing – to keep my voice free of at least half the anger I was feeling. "I don't fucking care what you _think_ Kenny's doing. In case you didn't notice, he's the _only_ one of us who actually fucking _knows_ what it's like down here." I shook my head, my hands forming fists at my sides. Fuck, I wanted to punch him in the fucking face right now, but I didn't, because of Tweek. "For fuck's sake, you retard, what the fuck could Kenny be _plotting_ that would be worse than what's already happened to you? You're fucking _dead_ , or did you forget that?" I heard a tiny whimper from behind me, and winced. Fuck. I'd been trying so hard to control my anger and avoid saying the D word in front of Tweek so I didn't scare him. I closed my eyes, silently counting – to ten, and then when ten didn't help, I kept going – to try to control my fury. I would count all the way to ten fucking thousand if it meant I would calm down enough to not scare Tweek. The last thing I ever wanted to do was make Tweek feel afraid of me. I'd just hit thirty-four when I heard Cartman say, "You."

I opened my eyes to see Cartman still staring at me, but something in his eyes had changed. He looked less hellbent on making me listen to what he'd convinced himself Kenny was trying to do to us, and more...well, pretty much more like the way I'd felt when I hadn't had Tweeker here with me. That kind of miserable, and I suddenly thought about Butters. Maybe the asshole actually cared about someone other than himself. I saw him swallow hard and then he shook his head.

"You don't – understand." His voice had lost its volume and urgency; the words came out barely above a whisper, and there was something behind them, something that sounded like that idiot was actually going to cry. Almost like it was happening in slow motion, I watched as he sunk to the ground in a heap, his head buried in his arms. I blinked, backing up a step. It was like all the fight had just instantly gone out of him. I didn't know how to react. I had _never_ seen him like this. Cartman didn't get upset like this; he was always loud and annoying and an asshole. It freaked me the fuck out to actually see him look this miserable. I didn't think Cartman _had_ emotions, much less knew what the fuck they _were_.

I was so distracted by not knowing what to do, I didn't notice Tweek until he was already past me, heading slowly and shakily towards Cartman, and by then it was too late. I wanted to tell him to stop, to come back, but I couldn't. Something inside me was telling me to just let him go do what he thought he needed to do. Tweek was scared to death of Cartman, always had been for as long as I could remember, and with good reason, the way Cartman had treated him. For him to willingly, voluntarily, walk up to the retard meant there was something big going on in Tweek's mind. My Tweeker didn't do spur-of-the-moment; whatever he was going up to Cartman for had to be something he'd been thinking about for a long time, and I'd been with him long enough to know not to mess with those kinds of things. Still, I moved forward a little, ready to save Tweek in case Cartman was just faking so we'd let our guards down and he'd be able to do something stupid and evil and so typically _him_. He might look genuinely miserable, fuck, he might even feel genuinely miserable for all I knew, but I'd _never_ trusted Cartman, and I sure as hell wasn't going to start now.

So I'd let Tweek do what he had to, but there was no fucking way I was letting him do it unprotected.

He stopped, about a foot or so away from Cartman. I saw him shiver and I instinctively took a step forward, accidentally kicking a rock across the ground as I moved. Tweek's head jerked in my direction, his eyes wide, and he let out a little squeak. I froze in mid-step, my hands in my pockets, and mouthed an, _'I'm sorry,'_ at him, nodding towards Cartman, who hadn't even looked up at Tweek's noise. Tweek took a deep breath, and then shakily crouched down in front of Cartman, resting on his knees on the ground. As soon as he wasn't facing me anymore, I inched forward as quietly as I could. I couldn't just stay back and let him do this. If he was going to interact with Cartman, I was going to be right there with him.

I was halfway to where he was kneeling when he reached out and lightly touched Cartman's shoulder with a trembling hand.

"Y – y – ngh! Jesus," he stuttered softly. I couldn't see his face, but I could imagine his expression right now as he fought to get control over his voice. I knew that expression – intense concentration, his eyes closed and his mouth clamped shut. I'd see it all the time whenever we had any kind of serious talk, which – thanks to me, I thought, cringing – been happening more often ever since all the shit with Thomas last year. They weren't _bad_ serious talks, they were just... We talked more about who we were, how we felt about each other, and about the future than we talked about all the other trivial stuff we'd used to have conversations about before. It was probably a good thing that we talked so much about things like that now – it was a way for me to promise Tweeker every day that what happened with Thomas would never happen again, and let him know that it was him, and only him, that I wanted – and needed, because fuck, did I need him – to be with forever. And he trusted me, I knew he did – I could tell whenever I looked into his bright green eyes – but that didn't stop me from telling him. Maybe I was telling myself too.

And I did have him forever, I thought, kneeling beside Tweek and without a word taking his free hand in mine. He was my one bright spot, the one thing that would keep me from losing my mind down here. I watched him as he glanced down at our hands, his fingers twitching as he held on tighter. He was my world, he always would be, no matter which world we were in. I didn't say anything as he took another deep breath, and then leaned forward an inch or two.

"Y – you miss him, d – don't you?" he said, just as quietly as before.

Cartman lifted his head, and Tweek pulled his arm back instinctively, but from the looks of Cartman, Tweeker had nothing to be afraid of. Cartman was crying. Tears were leaking from his already-bloodshot eyes and dripping from his chin, and his breathing was shallow and erratic. If we had been anywhere but here, and we'd caught Cartman like this, nothing would have stopped me from ripping on him until I lost my voice from laughing. No, that wasn't even true, and I knew it. If I hadn't known what it was like to lose someone you cared about more than anything else – which, judging by how he looked right now was exactly how Cartman felt about Butters – then I would be running up and down the streets of Hell right now making fun of the fatass. If I hadn't lost Tweek and felt how painful it was to know you were never going to see the person you loved ever again, if _I_ hadn't cried, I would be taking my revenge on Cartman for turning me in to the Rob Reiner wannabes.

But I did know. For what was probably the first time in his whole existence, Cartman was feeling human feelings, and I understood completely how he felt. I was lucky, even though it was horrible of me to think that way – I was _lucky_ that my boyfriend had killed himself to be with me. But it was true, as awful as it sounded. I had Tweek. I would _always_ have my Tweek. Cartman couldn't say that about Butters. I felt a twinge of something stir inside me and I realized that I was feeling sympathy for him, something I'd never thought would happen. I opened my mouth to say something, but closed it again when I realized that I had no fucking idea what to say. And anyway... I looked over at Tweek, who had that look of concentration on his face again. It wasn't my place to say anything. This was Tweeker's mission; I was just here to keep him grounded and safe.

"B – ngh! – Butters," my blond said when Cartman just stared at him, flinching a little like he was afraid of getting hurt just for saying the name. I didn't blame him, who knew how Cartman would react to things when he was this miserable? This was new to me _and_ Tweek. "Y – you miss him."

I saw a shadow pass over Cartman's face and his eyes darkened, and I tensed, ready to defend Tweeker against whatever might happen now. But as it turned out, not even Cartman, the master manipulator asshole, could keep up an emotional wall right now. In seconds he was back to looking utterly defeated. I looked away, up at the red sky, down the path the way we'd come, ahead of us, and then finally down at the ground, where I started counting all the rocks. Anywhere but at Cartman, fuck, I couldn't look at him, it made me too uncomfortable to see him look so weak. I hated him, yeah – fuck, did I hate him – but there was something about the sight of a crying fat asshole that made me feel awkward. So I counted rocks, but I was still aware of everything being said, and I still held Tweek's hand tightly in mine. I would know if he needed my help.

"Ghh! Oh, Christ," I heard Tweek mumble. I squeezed his hand gently, trying to reassure him by reminding him I was there. He shivered, and then started talking quickly, stumbling over his words. "Oh, God, I'm s – sorry, I d – don't mean to – oh Jesus – I just, I kn – know how you f –feel." He paused for a split second, and then continued, his voice rising in volume as the sentence went on, "Not – oh, Christ –not exactly how you feel, God, I don't mean _that_ , I just – losing someone, I – ngh! – I know what that's like and it _hurts_..." He trailed off, collapsing against me, shaking uncontrollably. Instantly, I wrapped my free arm around him, leaning down and touching my forehead to his.

"Shh," I whispered as he made little whimpering noises. I felt him cling to me and slid my arm up higher so I could run my fingers through his tangled blond hair. "Shh, it's okay, I'm right here, just try to relax, Tweeker."

"Oh, yeah," Cartman croaked, his voice almost as nasally as mine. I looked up, over the top of Tweek's head, to see him, tears still trickling down his face, glaring at us. "You _really_ know I feel."

Tweek started mumbling quietly. His voice was muffled by the fabric of my shirt, but it didn't take a genius to figure out that he was terrified. He was vibrating in my arms, and between whatever it was he was saying to himself, he was whimpering – probably regretting ever talking to Cartman in the first place. He'd meant well, though; he'd only been trying to help, which was so Tweek-like, and one of the million and twelve reasons I loved him so goddamn much. I started tracing circles on his back, holding him closer, and glared right the fuck back at Cartman. "Fuck off."

The fatass snorted, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "Whatever, _Craig_. Just keep making love to your spaz freak and leave me alone."

So much for feeling human feelings. I wanted to wring his fucking neck, but Tweek was still clinging to me and I didn't want to let go of him anytime soon, so I settled for flipping Cartman off. "God, what the fuck is wrong with you? He was just trying to help."

"Right." Cartman rolled his eyes. "Because _he_ knows how I feel. He's got you half a fucking inch away from him, but he knows _exactly_ what it's like to be fucking _alone_." His voice cracked on the word 'alone' and he shook his head.

"You really are fucking stupid, aren't you?" It was so hard for me to comprehend how someone could possibly be _that_ fucking ignorant, but I had to remind myself again that this was Cartman. "Do you even remember why it is that I even _have_ Tweek right now? Did you even _consider_ that maybe he _does_ know how you feel, or are you so self-absorbed that you actually think you're the only one who's ever been alone? Fuck, even _I_ know what it's like to be alone!"

"All right, _fine_ , Craig!" If looks could kill, I'd be...well, deader. Cartman's eyes were blazing, and if I was ever going to be intimidated by him, it would be now. But he was all talk, I knew from experience he couldn't hold his own in a physical fight, and so I wasn't intimidated in the least. I gave him my own death glare right back as he continued, "Go ahead and tell me you know what it's like to be me. Go right fucking ahead and tell me you know what it's like to grow up without a dad, with a mom like mine. You know _just_ what it's like to have nobody to talk to, to not have friends who _really_ care, until one day, _somehow_ you manage to get to be with the _one_ person who's never made you feel like shit, and then have that one person ripped away from you for _ever_. Go ahead and tell me you know what that's like, that you know how I _feel_." His last words came out in a snarl.

Jesus fucking Christ. So much for _not_ feeling human feelings, now. I didn't know what to say; I could just stare at him, stunned. Unconsciously I flipped him off, but that was just a reflex, there was no meaning behind it. I just didn't know what else to do. He shook his head with a snort of laughter that was anything but happy, and said bitterly, "I thought so."

My mouth opened and closed as I searched my brain for something to say, but, "I..." was the best I could do. Cartman ignored me, he just sat there staring down at the ground. It was Tweek, again, who was the one to say something. He let out a tiny squeak before slowly lifting his head. He sniffled, and I could see the traces of tears on his cheeks. He bit his lip, looking at me with red-rimmed green eyes, and then turned his head slowly to look at Cartman.

"It – hurts," he whispered, haltingly. "It's l – like you'll – never be happy – ever – ghh! – again."

Cartman tensed, but he didn't say anything. He didn't even look up, but I could tell he was listening.

"And," Tweek continued, still in the same halting tone. "Everything seems – dark, and lonely, and _cold_ , and not – not even coffee – helps, and you d – don't understand why it h – happened, all you know is that it _hurts_ , God, it hurts, and you just – nrgh!" His whole tiny body jerked to the right. "You just – want – to die..."

My heart broke when he said that, and I felt my own eyes fill with tears. I ran a hand through his hair again, leaning down and kissing his forehead when he looked up at me. I was lucky. I was so lucky.

"It's not the same," Cartman muttered from in front of us. "I can't see Butters. _Ever._ You can't understand that."

"No," I said, finally finding my voice. "No, I can't, and Tweeker can't either. And maybe we won't ever understand completely what you're feeling. But that doesn't mean either one of us is clueless about pain. Especially now." I glanced around us, at the big, empty Hell that was going to be our home for now until the end of time, to make my point. As much as I hated him, some small part of me still felt bad for Cartman, because he did have a point – it wasn't the same for him as it was for me, or for Tweek. We had each other, but Cartman would always be alone.

All three of us were silent for a few minutes, then. Well, as silent as we could be, anyway – Cartman sniffled every few seconds, and Tweek – who was curled up against me with his head resting on my chest – was never completely quiet; he was always making some kind of noise. I guess we were all thinking about ourselves, and our lives now; that's what I was doing, anyway.

Cartman was the first one of us to move. He stood up slowly, looking around him like it was his first time seeing everything down here. He cleared his throat, and then, with a glance down at me and Tweek, he said, his voice still hoarse, "Aren't we supposed to be looking for Frenchy?"


	27. Nothing To Lose: Cartman

I let that asshole Craig and Spazzy walk ahead of me. I didn't want to talk to either one of them right now. I didn't even want to _look_ at them, but I had to, to see where the fuck Craig was leading us, like he had any better idea where the fuck Frenchy was than the rest of us. At least all I had to see was the back of his head, not his goddamn self-righteous face. Same went for Tweek; the two of them kept looking at me like they _understood_ me. They didn't understand me. They couldn't possibly fucking understand anything about me. Sure, fine, Tweek had gotten pretty close when he'd described how it felt, before he'd went off on his tangent all about himself – it _did_ feel cold and lonely, but fuck, it was so much _more_ than that. He couldn't describe _why_ it felt like that for me. There was so much I couldn't even put it into words, all I knew was that being without Butters like this was killing me. Not literally killing me, obviously, but killing me inside, and nobody, not even Butters – but he came the closest out of everyone – really knew who I was inside.

That was probably not a good thing, I thought as I shuffled along behind the two people in front of me, glaring at their feet. Butters not _really_ knowing who I was probably meant that there was something wrong with me. There had to be a reason I had never let him see the real me. I'd kept so many walls up around myself, all I'd ever let him see was what I let everyone else see: the asshole Eric Cartman who only had moments of ever being anything else. I was no different to him than I was to anybody else, but that was just the way I was. I'd dealt with so much other stupid fucked up shit in my life, it shouldn't come as a surprise that I was so against letting anybody in. I'd thought Butters understood that about me, but I'd never talked to him about it, and he'd never asked. I'd just assumed.

But what if – the thought almost made me stop walking; I stumbled, but managed to regain my balance without falling – what if he hadn't? What if the whole time we'd been together I'd just been hurting him by keeping him at a distance and he'd been too nice to ever tell me? Fuck. _Fuck_. He would, that would be so purely _Butters_ , to not tell me something like that. He never complained about anything, and here I was being a goddamn self-absorbed asshole, taking advantage of him the way everyone else did. Treating him the way I had – the way everyone had – when we were kids. But that was _before_ , when I'd just been a stupid fourth grader, before I'd understood why exactly I wanted to ever hang around Butters so much in the first place. I'd thought that I was different now, that I treated him at least a little bit better than that, but now the realization that I really hadn't changed much at all just made me feel sick.

"Fuck," I said out loud, louder than I'd meant to. Craig looked over his shoulder at me. I rolled my eyes at him and he flipped me off, turning to face forward again. Fuck him. There was no reason why he should know anything about my personal life. Like he'd even give a fuck anyway. All he cared about was Tweek and their goddamn _perfect_ relationship. He was so...

Goddammit, he was so _lucky_ , is what he was. I hated him more than anyone or anything else in my life _or_ death – there were days when I hated that asshole more than I hated Kyle – but even I couldn't deny that, even if I didn't think he deserved it. For fuck's sake, he'd gone and broken up with Tweek over that stupid Tourette's kid last year and fucking ripped Tweek's world apart and then not even a week later they were _fine_. It took less than seven fucking days for Craig to get Tweek to trust him again, to believe that Craig wouldn't treat him like that, to have faith that Craig was different. I would never, _ever_ do anything like that to Butters – no matter how I'd treated him; that, I could swear on my life. I wouldn't be able to live with myself. It was hard enough to handle whenever I did something that made him even just a little sad, there was no way I would _ever_ let him go of my own free will, for _any_ reason. But here I was without him for the rest of forever, having to watch while fucking _Craig_ got to have everything he ever wanted just _handed_ to him. How did that even make any fucking _sense_?

Ahead of me, Tweek tripped over something and shrieked like a banshee. I rolled my eyes as Craig stopped to calm him down, making sure to stay at least ten feet behind them. Goddammit, they pissed me off with their insistence that they _understood_. They knew _nothing_ about real pain. I closed my eyes with a groan, the sound coming out as more of a growl than anything else. I was getting a fucking headache, the way my thoughts just kept going around and around in circles. If that was how my existence for all of eternity was going to be, I would rather be a fucking pile of dust. I didn't need to have the same three things repeating themselves over and over in my mind. I opened my eyes in time to see Craig lean closer to Tweek and I tensed, pissed at them for being there and pissed at myself for even being fucking _jealous_ in the first place. But, fuck, I didn't need to constantly be reminded that they had what mattered to them and I didn't.

And never would again.

I kicked at the rocks on the ground with the toes of my shoes, determinedly _not_ looking in their direction. We were never going to fucking find Frenchy if the two of them kept stopping every fifteen seconds to do _this._ I still didn't understand why Craig was taking Kenny's request—demand, more like; Kenny'd told him rather than asked him—seriously. Whatever, so they'd been pretty good friends in high school. I'd been hanging out with Kenny _way_ longer than Craig had, I'd knownhis ghetto ass since preschool. Not only that, I knew how poor people worked, and if Craig would just listen to me, we could avoid this big waste of time that was trying to find someone who obviously wasn't going to want to be found. The way Frenchy had taken off, it was pretty clear that he would rather die—again—than have to interact with any of us one more time.

That was the only reason I was still even fucking _with_ the two people in front of me, following them around all over like they had a clue where they were going. If they—we—by some convenient coincidence, managed to stumble across that bitter asshole, I wanted to see exactly how the fuck they were going to try to persuade him to even listen to them, much less stay with us until Kenny got the fuck back from wherever the hell he'd gone to. That was another thing. When was Kenny going to tell us what the fuck was going on? He showed up for ten minutes at a time, if that, said something cryptic, and then just left, like he was the most important fucking person in the universe and everyone's problems or questions or lives or deaths ran on his schedule and he didn't have to take two precious minutes out of his stupid goddamn existence to talk to someone he'd known his _whole life_ about _anything_. Some fucking friend that poor son of a bitch had turned out to be. What a shocker, a poor kid being an asshole.

I heard rocks crunching, and looked up. Craig and Tweek had started walking again. Neither one even looked back to see if I was still following them; they couldn't care less about me. That was just fine. I couldn't care less about them either. There was only one person who'd given me a reason to care. There was only one person who had given me a reason to try to be a better person. For him. And now that that was gone, now that I was left with people who didn't give a fuck who I was or what I did, I didn't see any reason why I should make an effort to be anything resembling civil. Especially considering that the way Hell worked, I would end up just forgetting Butters ever existed in the first place. The thought made my stomach hurt, but I forced myself to ignore it. I wasn't about to let myself show any more emotion and give anybody down here any ammunition against me. I'd let my guard down earlier, but not anymore. I ground my teeth together and held my head up higher, kicking one of the biggest rocks as hard as I could, smirking when it flew right into the back of Tweek's leg and he screeched, hopping forward a few steps like a retard.

I was going back to being the old Eric Cartman, starting right the fuck now.

Craig spun around and glared at me while backing up enough so that he was next to Tweek again. He wrapped one arm around him and I rolled my eyes. They made me so sick. "What's your problem, asshole?"

I shoved both of my hands in my pockets and glared right back at him. He thought he was so fucking badass just because he smoked, skipped school, and got in fights all the time. Ninety-nine percent of those fights were because his fucked up freak of a boyfriend was too pathetic to defend himself, _everybody_ skipped school except Pip and the goddamn ginger retards, and it wasn't like he was the only kid to ever light a fucking cancer stick. "My _problem_ is that _you're_ the one who's so fucking in love with Kenny that you'll obey his every precious wish and go on a fucking hunt for Frenchy, but instead of _doing_ that we have to stop every two feet so _he—_ " I jerked my head in Tweek's direction, glancing at him, and seeing his eyes widen. I must've hit a nerve; I wouldn't be surprised if now I'd planted the 'Craig cheating on him with Kenny' seed of doubt in Tweek's mind. He'd deserve it. And Craig would deserve to not have Tweek trust him. "—can have a seizure!"

Craig took two steps towards me, his hands clenching into fists, looking like he wanted to rip my head off. Instinctively, I moved forward too, ready to knock his fucking teeth down his throat. He could go ahead and try. I was ready for him this time; he wasn't going to catch me off guard like back in the mall. If he started a fight, he would regret it for the rest of fucking eternity. I tensed as he lifted one of his arms, moving like he was going to throw a punch, but then he just stopped. With his arm in the middle of the air. It was like he was frozen or something. He stood like that for about five seconds, and then he shook his head and just let his arm fall back down to his side, and turned around to face Tweek.

Spazzy was standing there, shaking, just staring at Craig, his eyes still wide. There was something different in his eyes now, and it caught my attention because I couldn't identify what it was. Something just looked really _off_ , and it wasn't until Craig had nodded at him, walked over, took his hand again, and the two of them had kept walking for a few steps that I figured it out. Tweek hadn't looked afraid. There was no doubt in his eyes at all.

For _fuck_ 's sake! I wanted to scream, but I didn't want to let those _fucking_ douchebags know they'd gotten to me. But seriously, the _fuck_? None of this made any fucking goddamn _sense!_ There was no fucking way I was wasting another second of my time with them. Let them go on their stupid quest through this place by themselves. I never wanted to see either one of them again. I turned left, off the path we'd been on, shuffling angrily along the rougher rocks that made up the rest of the ground, barely paying enough attention to avoid anything I might run into or trip over or fall into. This whole goddamn place was rocks and lava, and right now that pissed me off too. There wasn't anywhere I could go to be alone and away from everybody else. There weren't even any fucking _trees_ to sit underneath. The only thing that I could sit down and lean against was a boulder right in the middle of nowhere, a few feet ahead of me, but I couldn't even do that; someone was already there – I could just make out the top of their head.

" _Fuck_!" I muttered, frustrated but still trying to keep my voice down. Not only did I not feel like having a stranger overhear me, Craig and Tweek didn't walk _that_ fast; they would still be able to hear for sure if my voice went anything above normal volume. I started walking faster. I didn't know where the fuck I was going, I just knew that I wanted to put as much space between me and the two of _them_ as possible. Was I the only one who was being tortured down here? Fucking Kenny never stayed dead, nobody else in Hell fucking remembered anything so to them this was all just normal and _fine_ , Craig and Tweek were perfect and fine and fucking _stupid_ , and Frenchy—

—was the somebody sitting against the boulder. I stomped past it and tripped over his stupid goddamn cargo pants, which were so baggy he could fit twelve of himself in them. I caught myself before I fell and turned to him, my eyes narrowing, but he wasn't looking at me; he was looking down and I saw that somehow he'd managed to find himself a little notebook and a pen, and was writing. I stood there, glaring at him so hard my head hurt, my heart pounding with anger and my breathing getting louder, but he didn't look up. I tried to say something, but a strangled noise was all that came out of my mouth. His expression, or what I could see of it since he had his head down, didn't even change, he looked so goddamn...smug and indifferent, at the same time. Only a French asshole like him could pull that off. I could almost feel the blood inside me boiling; this was all _his_ fault and now he was perfectly content to just hide and ignore me, ignore what he'd done to me? _Fuck_ him.

"You _asshole_ ," I growled at him, finding my voice. Finally, he looked up, and I noticed that he for once didn't have a cigarette stuck in his mouth. I snorted. He must have run out of cancer sticks. Served him right.

He stared at me for what seemed like forever, until finally I saw recognition in his eyes. For a split-second that made me uneasy—was he forgetting already? Did it happen that fast? Kenny had said it took years...—and then I remembered that this was Frenchy, and he was just doing it because he was all high and mighty and he thought he was better than everybody else. With a sigh, he made a big goddamn show of closing his stupid notebook and set it beside him on the ground, then said, in goddamn fucking _French_ , " _Oui_?"

I was so furious I was seeing red, literally and figuratively; it was blinding, and it was everywhere - on the ground, in the sky, in my mind. "Speak _English_!" I yelled, not remembering to care that Craig and Tweek and anybody within fifty miles could probably hear me. "Goddammit, what the _fuck_ is wrong with you?" I kicked a rock in his direction, the only thing I could think of to do, I was so pissed off – too pissed off to aim, apparently. The rock went sailing past him, _thunk_ ing on the ground about five feet away.

Frenchy's eyes got darker and I saw him tense, like he was going to get up. I _wanted_ him to get up, I wanted him to come try to beat me up. Just like with Craig, if he tried _anything_ , I would make him wish he hadn't. I didn't care if he was supposed to be the best fucking mercenary the world had had to offer, he'd fucked up big time, and now he was going to pay for it. It wasn't enough for me that he was dead too, he wasn't suffering – he had barely had any emotion down here – and he had to suffer. I wanted him to suffer the way I had to suffer, but since he wasn't like me, he hadn't lost anybody who mattered to him the way Butters mattered to me, I would make him suffer physically. I would cause him more pain than he had ever been in his life, because he'd ruined mine.

I took a step in his direction, flipping him off and smirking, daring him to come near me. I saw him clench and unclench his fists, and I laughed, a humourless, bitter laugh. "Your shovel's not here, Frenchy. What are you going to do?"

He said something in French at me, which was bad enough, but what really pissed me off was the way he said it. I couldn't understand anything he said, but his tone was clear enough – whatever foreign thing he'd verbally aimed in my direction, it was condescending and dismissive, and it stunned me. I couldn't move for at least thirty seconds, and then just started shaking with rage. No. He didn't get to _do_ that, he didn't get to pretend I didn't exist like that. I shook my head, trying to clear it so I could think straight, and when I opened my eyes I saw that he'd picked up his little stupid notebook, and was writing again.

The thought hadn't even fully crossed my mind before I lunged forward and snatched the goddamn thing right out of his hands, and then I was running. I barely registered the fact that I was running the same direction I'd been walking before with Craig and Tweek, all I knew was that I had Frenchy's notebook and I had to keep running, because it was me taking it that had finally gotten a reaction out of the asshole. I could hear him behind me, his big clunking army boots crunching on the rocks, and I knew that he would catch up to me soon, and I had to figure out something to do with this notebook since there obviously wasn't enough time for me to read it so I could blackmail him—

—and then something hit me from behind, and I crashed to the ground, landing wrists-first on the sharp rocks. Frenchy's notebook flew in the air and landed somewhere ahead of me. I hissed in pain, watching blood run down my arms from three brand new cuts, one of which still had a fucking rock stuck in it. Gingerly, I pulled it out, wincing at the stinging pain it left behind. "Goddamm— _fuck_."

"Zat is what you get."

I looked behind me to see Frenchy getting to his feet, brushing dirt off his cargo pants. He smirked at me, and then his whole expression went cold and he walked forward to retrieve his notebook. Dusting that off too, he looked back at me and said flatly, "Never touch my zings again."

I opened my mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a, "For fuck's sake, Cartman!"

I pulled myself up to my knees, glaring up at Kenny, who was standing in front of Craig and Tweek, a few feet away from both me and Frenchy, and looking at me like this was all my fault. I rolled my eyes at all of them. "For fuck's sake _what_?"

"I told you to find him and stay together, not find him and start a fucking _fight_!" Kenny said angrily.

"Whatever, he started it, _he's_ the one who—"

Kenny cut me off, shaking his head, his blond hair whipping back and forth. "I don't care. I don't want to hear it." Jesus Christ, he was pissed. He ran one of his hands through his hair and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he still looked pissed, just more calm about it. "At least you all ended up in the same place. That's good."

"Fantastic. More cryptic bullshit," I said, wiping my bloody wrists on my jeans.

"Just shut the fuck up, already!" Craig said, lowering his voice when Tweek squeaked. " _God_."

Frenchy grunted at Craig's last word, and muttered, "Beetch." He took a few steps away from us; I didn't know about anyone else, but I was glad to see him go. Asshole. But then Kenny said, "'Tophe. Please," and he stopped. Just stopped, just like that, and turned back around to face Kenny.

What the fuck was that? Since when did Frenchy listen to anyone besides the goddamn French voices in his head? I rolled my eyes, again, and said, "Okay, we're all together, fine. Why exactly is that a good thing?"

Kenny didn't answer me. He just walked forward a few steps until he was in the middle of all of us, closed his eyes again, and stood like that for a good two minutes. Not moving, not saying a word, I couldn't even tell if he was breathing. Two minutes like that, and then I heard him whisper, "Satan."

Before I could even start trying to figure out why, 'Satan', was apparently the answer to my question, the Prince of Darkness himself – Satan, not Ozzy Osbourne – popped into existence just like before, freaking me out just as much as he had earlier. He didn't acknowledge any of us, not even Tweek who had shrieked so loud I could hear it echo, he just looked down at Kenny and said, "Now?"

Kenny opened his eyes and looked back up at Satan. "Now," he whispered, and I swore I saw tears in his eyes, but then—

—everything went black.


	28. My Hell: Stan

_"I won't be long, I promise. Just – stay right here. Stay together, okay?"_ Kenny's final words to us since he'd left – whenever that had been; it seemed like forever ago – kept repeating in my head, melding together until they were just gibberish. _"I promise you, all of you, it's going to be okay."_

_"I promise..."_

Gibberish or not, Kenny's words were all I had to cling to. I didn't know how he thought anything would be okay, but the very fact that he did, and that he sounded so _certain_ , was almost enough to make me believe him. This was Kenny. Kenny McCormick, who I'd known my entire life, the one person I'd known who had never done anything to upset anybody on purpose. Except, of course, Cartman, but Cartman was always the exception because he was, well, him. But never anybody else, not even back in elementary school and even middle school, when the rest of us – even me, I thought with a pang of shame as I glanced over at the current object of my thoughts – would tease Butters mercilessly.

Poor Butters. He and Clyde were sitting across from me on the ground beside the computer he'd been on when Clyde and I had first gotten here. None of us had said anything to each other since Kenny left, and Clyde had gotten back from wherever he'd gone. I didn't know where he'd been, but he'd come back looking almost worse than he had before. His eyes were bright red, and I knew that wherever it was he'd gone, he'd been crying; and no wonder – Tweek was dead, and because of the _way_ he died, Clyde would never get to see him again either. None of what had happened to any of the three of us was anything less than awful and unfair, but to me, it seemed like Clyde was _suffering_ the most. Not in the most pain overall necessarily, but suffering more than Butters and I were.

Butters had to cope with losing his boyfriend, I was trying to deal with the fact that I was never going to see my best friend and, most likely unrequited, love interest again. All of that was horrible, true; I wasn't sure how either I or Butters was going to heal from any of this. But Clyde... He, Token, Craig, and Tweek had been _so_ close, closer than me and Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman, and he'd lost them _all_. I at least still got to see Kenny every once in a while, but Clyde didn't have anyone. He'd had to deal with the fact that he was dead and here, Craig was dead and so far away from here it was ridiculous, Tweek was barely alive in a coma, and Token was seriously injured in the hospital.

And then when Tweek... When I'd found out what had happened to Tweek, just before Kenny had gone away again... God, I felt awful for Clyde. I didn't blame him for needing to go somewhere to be alone, or for coming back looking the way he did. Still, it looked like there was something else wrong, something beyond everything obvious, and I wanted to ask him what it was. Or at the very least, how he was doing, even though it was a stupid, cliché, generic question and it was perfectly obvious that Clyde wasn't doing well – I just felt like I should say _something_ – but I didn't want to be the first one to break the silence.

Butters had his head down, and he was untying and retying his shoelaces. Every so often I could hear him sniffle, and something like a tiny whimper would come out of his mouth. He looked so small right now, so much like the little kid we used to pick on, and my stomach hurt. God, I felt so awful for going along with all the shit we did to him back then. As nice as I tried to be to Butters now, I couldn't get rid of the guilt, and the feeling that, if it hadn't been for Kenny, we would have gone too far one day and done something to Butters we wouldn't be able to take back. Kenny was always the one to step up and say something, and rescue Butters from whatever kind of torment we were putting him through that day. Kenny was proof that good people still existed in the world.

So if he was sure everything was going to be okay, I trusted him. Not completely, not yet, I couldn't. But I trusted him as much as I could right now. He had never lied to me before, and there was no reason to lie to me now. He was one of my best friends, he always had been and he always would be. And as long as I got to see him even though I couldn't see who I wanted most, I _might_ be able to be all right here.

Butters sniffled, and it was him who was the first to speak. His voice was barely above a whisper, but I could still hear every single bit of pain he was feeling with every word he spoke. "D – d'you think it'll ever g – go away?"

He looked back and forth between me and Clyde, who blinked like he'd been startled out of a daydream, which was probably exactly what had happened. Ninety percent of my time up here I spent with my mind stuck in memories; I wouldn't be surprised in the least if the same was true for the two of them too.

The brunet looked at me, and I looked at Butters, trying to figure out how to answer his question when I wasn't sure what he was talking about. Clyde made a noise like he was clearing his throat, and then he croaked, his voice so rough and ragged it made my throat hurt, "Will what ever go away?" His voice was more nasally than usual, probably because of how much he'd cried.

Butters swallowed hard, and I could see him trying to get control of himself. "How I f – feel," he whispered softly, his gaze dropping back down to his feet.

Oh, God. I caught Clyde's eye and saw the same thing in his expression that I was feeling: how were we supposed to answer that question? I knew what Butters wanted to hear; he wanted us to tell him that yes, everything he was feeling would gradually fade away until he was all right again, but I couldn't guarantee that. Nobody could. I wasn't even sure _I_ was going to ever adjust, I couldn't speak for Butters.

He was naive, always had been, but he wasn't stupid – I knew, Clyde knew, and Butters himself knew, that he was asking us to lie to him. I could tell just by his voice that he knew there was no way an honest answer would be the answer he wanted. He'd sounded so defeated when he asked; there wasn't a hint of any kind of hope in his voice. And as much as I wanted to tell him everything he was asking to hear, I couldn't. I couldn't lie to him. Not now. Not about this.

I leaned forward and rested my head on my hands, trying to think of what the hell I could possibly tell Butters that would make any kind of difference. An all-too familiar throbbing started up in the back of my head – another headache; perfect, that was exactly what I needed to make everything so much better. More pain. I didn't think I could do this anymore.

"It might," I heard Clyde say. I raised my head slightly to see him push his hair out of his face with both hands and turn to Butters. "But not – not right away."

Butters sniffled again, and started twisting his shoelaces around his fingers, but he didn't look up. Clyde closed his eyes and inhaled shakily. I saw his whole body tense and I knew that I had to help him with this, not fall back into my own world of misery and pain. If Clyde could put aside everything he was feeling, if he was strong enough to hold himself together and talk to Butters right now, then I could too. I had to keep reminding myself that I wasn't alone, I had the two of them with me forever, and even though we hadn't been that close back home, they were the only people I knew here, and that made them almost as valuable to me as Kyle. Almost.

"We—" The word got stuck in my throat and I coughed harshly, wincing. My throat was so dry; I hadn't realized how long I'd gone without saying anything. I swallowed gingerly, trying to ignore the fact that my throat felt like it was on fire, and tried again. "We can't know for sure. Everyone's..." I hesitated, searching my brain for the right words. My head was pounding and I couldn't think straight.

Clyde opened his eyes and glanced at me before looking back at Butters. The blond was still looking down, but he'd stopped playing with his shoelaces, and even from where I was sitting I could see that his eyes were shiny with tears.

"We've all got our own...stuff," Clyde said softly, picking up where my sentence had left off. "Everything we – lost, it's all...different. We all had...attachments...to different things."

Butters lifted his head at that, and he and Clyde shared a look. Butters tilted his head to the left and Clyde nodded, a silent answer to a silent question. I looked between them, not understanding what was going on but knowing it wasn't my place to say anything. Obviously Butters knew something about Clyde that I didn't, but that was between the two of them. Whatever it was, it seemed like it was helping answer Butters' question more than I could, and that mattered more than whether or not I was missing out on information of some kind.

"So," Clyde continued, still in that same quiet, slow tone. "There isn't...one answer to that. I wish I could tell you everything will be okay, but..." He paused, and took a deep breath. "I don't know, Butters. I'm sorry. I just...don't know." His voice wavered on the last few words, and I could see his eyes filling with tears too. He sniffled, bringing his hand up quickly to shield his eyes.

Butters nodded slowly as he processed Clyde's words. A few tears managed to drip their ways out of his eyes but he just let them fall. I felt so awkward, like I should either know what to say or be falling apart just as much as Butters and Clyde obviously were. But I didn't, and I wasn't; my brain couldn't handle even semi-coherent thoughts right now, and the very fact that I _wasn't_ falling apart the way they were was what was preoccupying my mind at the moment. I felt like something had to be wrong with me, since I wasn't crying. No, since I _couldn't_ cry, I was upset enough to, I just...couldn't. But that didn't mean I was adjusting...did it?

I missed Kyle. I missed everything I'd had and everything I could've had with him if I'd had the chance. I missed when seeing Kenny didn't mean he'd somehow gotten himself killed to come talk to me because I wasn't where I should be anymore. I missed _Cartman_ for Christ's sake. I missed hanging out with all the guys and just...being us. I hated being _here_ ; it may have been Heaven, but it wasn't _my_ heaven. I didn't want to do anything except sit somewhere by myself for the rest of my existence. I didn't want to talk to anybody, I didn't want to get up, I didn't want to move. Nothing.

All three of us lapsed back into silence. The only sounds I heard were our breathing, a sniffle every once in a while, and the clicking of keyboards as the people around us on computers typed. I wondered when Kenny was going to be back. Maybe he would have a better answer for Butters. Maybe he could make Clyde feel better. Kenny had those kinds of abilities. I didn't. There wasn't anything special about me. I was just Stan Marsh, I wasn't...amazing, I wasn't cool, I wasn't all dark and mysterious. I wasn't...a mercenary. I groaned, again resting my head on my hands, and once again started comparing myself to someone I would never be.

I just didn't understand how Kyle could be attracted to Christophe in the first place. The guy was such an asshole to everyone; he'd threaten anybody that came near him. In French of course, so nobody could understand his threats, but the meaning was clear. He hated everyone, so how come Kyle liked him? Kyle needed someone he could trust, who knew him and who knew what it meant when his eyes were more brown than green, someone who could calm his mom down when she got in one of her moods, someone who would always be there for him when he needed them, who wouldn't disappear for months at a time without a word. My job might not have paid the best – two dollars more than minimum wage wasn't that much – but I didn't make my money by putting my life on the line. I wouldn't constantly be putting Kyle in danger if he was with me. If he and Christophe started dating, I'd be afraid every day that he was going to get hurt, or kidnapped, or – or killed...

I shook my head, trying to get the sudden image of a trapped and terrified Kyle out of my mind. None of that was going to happen; I'd missed my chance with my – _the_ , I corrected myself instantly – redhead, but so had Christophe. After all, he wasn't exactly alive and healthy on Earth either, was he? It shouldn't still be bothering me so much that Kyle'd had a huge crush on him, but it _was_. And I knew exactly why it was, I just didn't want to think about the possibility of Kyle missing Christophe more than he missed me.

God, I was so petty. I'd been jealous when I found out, and I was still jealous now, even after everything. After _dying_ , I was still upset that he wanted Christophe and not me. And now, as much as I wanted to, as much as I wanted my brain to shut off and shut up... I couldn't stop thinking about all the 'what if's. After all, Kyle had said himself, _"If things were different..."_

What if I'd been a better person? Maybe if I'd been better somehow Kyle would have seen me differently. What if I was more of a rebel? What if my dad wasn't so stupid? What if I'd cut my hair a different way, or worn different clothes, or listened to different music? What if...what if I'd been Jewish? Would I have been more attractive to Kyle if I'd been Jewish? There had to have been something I could have done so he would see me that way... We'd been best friends, we'd known everything about each other, I knew him well enough to know what made him happy and I'd tried so hard to keep him happy, all the time... What had I been doing wrong...?

The sharp, stabbing pain of my headache cut through any other thoughts that were about to cross my mind. I winced, and let out another groan. God, it felt like my skull was going to split in half. I'd never gotten headaches this much, I'd barely ever been sick when I was alive. The headaches had only started after I'd been here. They were probably because of all the stress and everything I was going through, but I didn't see that as being very fair. I was hurting enough just by being here, wasn't I? I didn't really need headaches to remind me that I could still feel pain.

"Headache?"

I nodded, even though Clyde couldn't see me, and all it accomplished was sending more waves of pain through my head. I gritted my teeth, and when I felt like I could open my mouth without throwing up, I said, "Yeah."

I heard Clyde sigh, sniffle, and then sigh again. "I know the feeling." He paused, and then I heard a weird rattling sound. I looked up, squinting in an attempt to shield my eyes from any bright light, and saw Clyde pulling a little white bottle out of his pocket. He leaned forward and held it out to me. "Here," he said. "Mitch gave me some Advil, earlier. I don't have anything...you can drink to take it with, but it might help."

I reached out, taking the bottle from Clyde's outstretched hand. Mitch. So that was where he'd been, over at the taco place Kenny had told him about. Somehow I didn't think he'd been eating tacos. "Thank you," I said, twisting the lid off the bottle and shaking two of the little pills inside into my hand. "I don't need anything to take them with." I swallowed both pills at the same time, ignoring again how much swallowing hurt.

Clyde nodded in answer, taking the bottle of Advil back. He glanced at Butters, and I did too. He'd gone back to playing with his shoelaces, but he looked up when Clyde asked, "Need any, Butters?" and held out the bottle.

Butters shook his head. "N – no, but thank you," he said with another little cough.

Clyde shrugged, and slid the bottle back inside his pocket. "If you do, just ask," he said. Butters bit his lip; he looked like he was going say something, but he didn't, he just nodded, and we were quiet again.

Quiet on the outside, anyway. If their brains were anything like mine, inside their heads was deafening. I almost couldn't tell one thought from another; they came so fast, and tangled up with each other until it took almost everything I had just to make sense of the things in my mind. After a few minutes, the Advil finally began to work its magic, and I started feeling less like my head was going to explode and more like I could actually think clearly. I lifted my head to see Clyde and Butters in pretty much the same positions as me, with their heads down and their eyes closed. I felt my eyes fill will tears – oh, thank God, I was still human, I could still cry – as I realized just how much I needed them. They were my connections to everything I'd lost, and I was so grateful to be able to call them friends. We may not have been the closest while we'd been alive, and I hated that it took dying for me to appreciate them this way, but they were my friends. The only friends here that I had.

"I'm glad you guys are here," I said suddenly, surprising myself as well as Clyde and Butters with my words. I wiped my dripping eyes with my sleeve and sniffled loudly. "I just... I'm glad I'm not – alone." I looked at Butters, even more tears spilling out of my eyes as I remembered everything I'd ever done to him. "Butters... I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. I was a horrible person to you for most of your life, and I'm so sorry." I turned to Clyde before Butters had a chance to respond. "And Clyde, I wish – I wish we'd been better friends. And I'm sorry that this – that this is all because of me and my _stupid_ idea to go to New York." That was all I could say before I really started to cry. Clyde and Butters didn't say a word, and under different circumstances I might have felt really stupid for crying like this. But considering everything, I knew they would understand.

After a minute or so, Butters whispered, "Jesus." I thought he was saying it in response to my falling apart the way I was, but then Clyde said, his tone urgent and hopeful and worried all at once, "Kenny."

I jerked my head up to see Clyde staring past me with wide eyes. I followed his gaze and saw Kenny, accompanied by Jesus, slowly walking towards us. Kenny looked awful, even from thirty feet away I could see dark circles under his eyes, and the paleness of his skin. His blond hair was messy, and every time he ran his hands through it, which he was doing every five seconds as he talked to Jesus, he made it that much messier. He looked like he'd gotten skinnier since I'd seen him last, and Kenny hadn't weighed much to begin with. I was worried about him; he looked so serious, and so unhappy. It was so wrong, to see him like that, to not see the happy Kenny I was so used to...

He noticed us all staring at him when he was about ten feet or so away from us, and, after saying one last thing to Jesus, he made his way over to us.

"Hey," he said, crouching down so he was eye level with each of us. Up close he looked even worse; his eyes were even more bloodshot than Clyde's. He sounded worse than I felt, too, and my stomach did another backflip as I tried to imagine what could possibly have happened to make Kenny feel like that. He looked like he was ready to deliver the worst news that could possibly exist, and my heart started beating faster as my thoughts went right to Kyle.

"What's going on?" Clyde was the first one of us to answer, and I could hear a little bit of panic in voice. I could tell that Kenny's appearance had worried him too, but at his next question, it was clear he was worried for a different reason. "Is Token okay?"

Kenny nodded. "He's okay," he said softly. With a glance at me he added, "So's Kyle. They're both okay."

"Are _you_?" I managed to ask between sniffles and small sobs.

With an almost-but-not-quite smile, Kenny said simply, "I will be." He dropped to his knees and scooted forward a little until he was in the middle of the three of us.

Butters let out a little whimper, Clyde hiccupped, and I sniffled again, but we all kept our eyes on Kenny as he took a deep breath. He looked first at Butters, then at Clyde, and then me. I couldn't read his expression; there was something in his eyes I just couldn't decipher. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head up, and whispered, "Now."

The last thing I saw was a bright flash of white.


	29. How To Save A Life: Kenny

Resurrection isn't as epic as everyone tries to make it out to be. I tried to explain that to the guys – Kyle, Stan, and Cartman – way back in third grade, but none of them believed me. I guess I couldn't really blame them; after all, we were eight years old, my dying and coming back to life was still new and exciting to them. They couldn't understand why I didn't see it the same way.

I tried to tell them, back then, that when I came back... It wasn't anything special. One second I would be in whichever afterlife I'd gone to, and the next, I would be waking up back on Earth. It was just like waking up from sleeping – it was so simple. They wouldn't have any of it. I still remember Cartman insisting that I was keeping the resurrection secret all to myself, because I liked being the only one with a superpower. He just couldn't grasp the fact that while in theory, resurrection was the best thing ever, in practice it was far from amazing. As we got older, they stopped asking me what it was like – not just the coming back part, but the dying, too – and I stopped mentioning it to anyone.

I knew they hadn't forgotten; how could they? I just think it got old for them. They knew I'd come back eventually, so they stopped worrying every time I got hit by a car, or burned to death, or...whatever. And I understood that, I did – if something is predictable, nobody thinks much of it after a while. Nobody feels the need to question it, because it's never going to change. My dying and resurrecting was predictable. It was the one constant throughout all of our lives, the one thing everybody – not just my friends, but everyone – looked to for reassurance when anything weird happened. If 'the poor McCormick kid' was still dying every two days, then all was right with the world, and they could go on with their lives without worrying anymore. My deaths made their lives better.

All I'd ever wanted was to be seen as more than I was. I wanted my name, Kenny McCormick, to not be synonymous with 'the poor kid'. I wanted to be known as more than the creepy kid you could shoot in the face with your dad's shotgun who'd be back in time for school the next day. And so I decided, that even if it hurt me inside to keep my personal feelings on the matter to myself, I wouldn't complain about my resurrection abilities to anyone. I wouldn't talk about my own problems; I would just be there for anyone who needed to talk to me about theirs. And for a long time, everything worked fine. People would come to me for advice, or just to talk, and I would help them whichever way I could. I got a reputation as being the best person to talk to, and it felt good to have people need me like that.

But then the plane crash had happened, and it hadn't just been me who died, it had been most of my best friends, and suddenly it was all too much for me to handle. Seeing everyone split up from the people who made them whole, watching the guys I'd grown up with fall apart and cry and realize that things had changed for them forever, was too much. Craig without Tweek was wrong – they needed each other, I wasn't sure if even they realized just how much. Butters was saving Cartman's soul with every minute that passed that they were together; even though Cartman couldn't tell how much he was changing, it was clear that Butters was making him a better person. Clyde and Token, though nothing more than best friends, were each what the other one needed; they were best friends the way Stan and Kyle were best friends.

And Stan and Kyle... They were meant to be together. I knew that, now more than ever, after seeing them apart. I'd seen Kyle worried about Christophe, I'd seen him clutch the shiny red garnet ring tightly in his hand, but I'd seen everything in his eyes change when Stan was mentioned. The redhead had a thing for 'Tophe, but whatever thing that was, it was nothing compared to how he felt about his super best friend, and I knew it. He didn't; not yet, anyway. But he would, one day. 'Tophe would be all right, I knew. After seeing him the last time, I could tell that he'd sunk a little deeper inside himself, and maybe that had been his reaction to being dead, but I couldn't help thinking it was something more. His eyes were clearer than they had been the whole time he'd been fixated on Kyle.

The one good thing, if I could honestly say any of this had a silver lining, was Craig and Tweek being able to be together. But even that was tainted; the reason they'd had each other in Hell was because Tweek had been so miserable being alive he'd taken matters into his own hands. It was that that had cemented my belief that I had to do something. I couldn't let my friends stay like this. I couldn't. I was the one who had to save them from eternal misery.

I had to call in some favors.

There was a little whimper from somewhere in front of me, and I lifted my head, shaking my hair out of my face. When I saw where the noise had come from, I pushed myself off the wooden bench I'd been sitting on while I'd been thinking, and quickly made my way across the grass, kneeling down beside Tweek. I wasn't surprised that he'd been the first to wake up.

He was sitting up, his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them, looking around with wide eyes. I didn't blame him for being scared; the last place he'd been had been the very depths of Hell, not Central Park in the middle of the day. He didn't even see me come up to him, and I followed his gaze to see that he was staring at a group of people across the park having a picnic. I didn't want to freak him out any more than he already was, but I needed to get his attention. I leaned forward and said softly, "Tweek?"

He jumped, and whipped his head around to stare at me. When he saw who'd just spoken to him, his eyes, if possible, got even wider. He opened his mouth but all that came out was a strangled sounding, "Wh – ghh?!"

"It's okay," I said, resting one of my hands gently on his shoulder. He was shaking violently, and I could tell he was terrified. His eyes were moving around so quickly; they went from me, back across the park to the picnic people, back to me, down beside him on grass, up to the sky, everywhere. "It's okay, Tweek," I repeated, trying my best to keep my voice steady even though I didn't feel calm at all. "You're in Central Park. You're alive."

Tweek froze, going completely still. He had his head down, but I heard him mumble, "I'm – I'm alive...?"

I opened my mouth to tell him that yes, he was alive. To promise I would explain everything to him as soon as everybody else woke up. But before I could get a word out, my eight other best friends started to do just that.

Clyde sat straight up and looked around in confusion. He saw me first, and I saw him go to say something, but then his eyes moved to Tweek and then to the stirring figure on the ground beside the blond. His eyes widened, and he scrambled on his hands and knees to get closer to where we were. He'd just reached us when Craig sat up and leaned back on his elbows. It took him a few seconds to realize that one, he was lying on grass; two, I was there; and three, to his left was someone he wasn't supposed to have ever been able to see again.

"Oh, my God," came a voice from a few feet away. Clyde, Craig, and Tweek looked in the direction of the voice, and after a second I did too. Token had gotten to his feet, and from the look on his face he had just made the same realization as the others – he was in the same place as his best friends. He wasn't in a hospital bed, it didn't hurt him to move, and the people he cared about most were _right there._

"Am I dreaming...?" I heard Clyde whisper. I shook my head, though he wasn't looking at me.

"No," I said, in the same quiet voice I'd used when talking to Tweek. "No, you're not dreaming. This is real."

I watched as his eyes filled with tears and he slowly stood, swaying a little bit. When he caught his balance he looked down at Craig and Tweek, and then over at Token, bringing his hand up to his mouth to chew on his thumbnail. There were tears streaming down Token's face now, and when Clyde started gnawing, his best friend made a noise somewhere between crying and laughter, and almost tripped over his own feet in his hurry to get over to him and hug him.

"You're disgusting, you know that?" Token said, wiping his eyes with one hand, a trace of a smile on his face.

"So you've said," Clyde answered from around his thumbnail.

Craig coughed from the ground, climbing to his feet and helping Tweek do the same. Standing up straight, he looked at Clyde, and then glanced over at Token. "Hey," he said after a minute, shoving his hands in his pockets – but not before I noticed that they were shaking. I saw Clyde stare at Craig for a split second while his friend wasn't watching, and then he shook his head, briefly closing his eyes.

I left the four of them alone, then, deciding that this was their time to have with each other, and it wasn't my place to be in the way. I made my way over to an empty area of the park and sat down on the cool grass, to wait for everyone else to wake up. It didn't take long; within the next eight minutes, Kyle and Stan had woken up at the exact same time, Butters and Cartman doing the same not thirty seconds later. 'Tophe took the longest, but I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd been the first one awake and had just faked it. It sounded like 'Tophe.

They'd all been so confused, which I completely understood. The first time I'd resurrected I hadn't had any idea what was going on either. I hadn't been afraid, really, just weirded out by the fact that I was all of a sudden sitting in the middle of frozen Stark's Pond. So it made sense for them all to be wondering why they were all of a sudden fine and together and in the middle of Central Park in New York, when they'd all resigned themselves to being without whoever made them happiest for the rest of forever. They were confused, but not ungrateful; even though I could see that about half of them were crying, it was happy crying, it was the kind of crying that meant they were just feeling way too much and the tears were just a way of letting out the emotions they couldn't put into words.

I didn't want to say anything to alert them to my presence if they weren't already aware of it; I just wanted to see them all together again like this, the way it was supposed to be. All of them, alive. This was right. I knew I'd done the right thing – not that I'd doubted myself before, it was just proven to me as I watched them from my place on the grass. And I knew that soon I would have to talk to them, but the more I watched them, the more I dreaded the conversation I knew was going to have to happen. I didn't want to take away any of their happiness, but I knew that I had to.

Kyle laughed suddenly, and I looked up to see him smiling. Actually smiling, not the sad almost-smile that had become customary ever since the crash. This was a genuine smile, it went right to his eyes, which were watery, but not unhappy. I watched as he said something to Stan, whose face I couldn't see but I didn't doubt that his expression would mirror Kyle's happy one, and then his eyes moved past his super best friend and landed on me. His eyes went wide, and as he lifted his arm to point in my direction, I saw the ring 'Tophe had given him shining on his finger.

Stan turned to see what Kyle was pointing at, and the redhead pulled his arm back and I saw him quickly drop the ring in his pocket. Stan said something to Kyle, and the two of them got everyone else's attention. My stomach suddenly started hurting as the nine of them started making their ways over to me. There was no more time. I was going to have to do this, and I was going to have to do it now. I stayed sitting as they all gathered around me, knowing that I wouldn't be able to stand if I tried. Now that it was almost time for everything to happen, it was happening too fast and the selfish side of me just wasn't ready. I swallowed hard and let my hair cover my face as I tried to pull myself together. When Kyle said my name, I heard eight million questions in his voice and I fought to keep myself under control as I looked up at him through my hair. "Hey, dude," I said, hearing the sadness in my voice and knowing Kyle heard it too.

He dropped down to his knees in front of me. There was so much worry in his eyes. It broke my heart, knowing that he cared so much, knowing that I had to hurt him again, after he'd already been through so much. Kyle had always been my favourite person, _my_ best friend, even though I wasn't his. "Kenny... What did you do?" he asked softly.

I had to look away when he asked that; I couldn't look him in the eyes, not now. I knew I was going to cry eventually, and not the happy kind of crying. The longer I looked into Kyle's eyes, the less I would be able to hold it together, and I needed to stay strong as long as I could. For him. For all of them.

I knew what he meant; Kyle was smart. He knew that they couldn't possibly all be here without me having something to do with it. I was the only one of us on speaking terms with God, Jesus, Satan, and Damien – just barely. I was the only one of us who had, as Cartman had always said, a 'superpower'. Usually when there were unnatural circumstances, I was naturally seen as the person who, if I didn't know what was going on, would have a way of finding out. And most of the time I did.

"What I had to," I whispered, closing my eyes and fighting the urge to start sobbing right then and there. I took a couple of deep breaths, willing my body, if not my mind, to calm down and let me do what I had to. I could react later; right now I needed to do this, even if it killed me.

_Even if..._

"What?" I couldn't tell if Kyle genuinely hadn't heard me, or if he was asking for a deeper meaning to my words. I chose to think he really hadn't heard what I'd said, and forced myself to stand. I stumbled a little, but Kyle had stood with me and he caught me by the arm, steadying me.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice and expression filled with concern.

I didn't answer his question. Instead, I looked around at the nine people in front of me. Craig and Tweek were standing together; as always, Craig's arm was around Tweek's shoulders. Clyde was beside them, again chewing on his thumbnail – typical Clyde. Beside him stood Token, his arms crossed like he was cold. Butters was next to him, Cartman on his other side. The two of them were holding hands, something I saw so rarely, because Cartman had always been so unwilling to show any sign of caring. I was glad that he seemed to finally be willing to let go of his inhibitions for Butters. Stan was beside, and just a little bit in front of him. Kyle was right in front of me and behind all of them stood 'Tophe, his eyes dark and cold and and if I hadn't known him as well as I did I would have thought he wasn't listening. But I knew he was. They all were. I had their attention. It was now or never.

And I knew it couldn't be never.

I slid one of my hands inside the pocket of my jeans and pulled out nine little envelopes. I looked down, shuffling them in my hands for a few seconds while I tried to figure out how to start. Taking a few steps backwards, I shook my hair out of my face and tilted my head up to look at the sky. The sun was bright today, the blue sky free of any clouds. A perfect day.

"I made them bring you back," I said, deciding that it was easiest to just be simple. I didn't have the strength for anything else. "I couldn't let you be apart from each other like that." I closed my eyes. I could still see the sunlight even while they were shut. "It wasn't right."

"How?" Craig's voice was sharp, but not with anger, just very strong emotion. "How did you do it?"

I opened my eyes. Tears were flowing freely down Kyle's face and I couldn't look at him without needing to cry too. No. Not yet. I couldn't yet. I looked past the redhead, having to ignore the way that Stan was silently crying too, and how even Cartman looked on the verge of an emotional breakdown. The only one who didn't look visibly upset was 'Tophe, and I knew that didn't necessarily mean anything.

Craig was holding onto Tweek's hand so tightly his knuckles were white, and I could see that the same was true for Tweek too. Craig glanced at the shivering blond, then untangled his hand from Tweek's and wrapped his arm once again around his skinny shoulders, pulling him as close as he could.

"A lot of long conversations with God and Satan," I answered slowly. "They made it very clear that I could only ask this favour once, because it involved changing history, and it wouldn't be easy."

I paused, not wanting to continue but knowing I had to. Kyle – of course, of course it was Kyle who noticed – caught the hesitation in my tone and said, hearing the word I hadn't said, "...But?"

I sighed, closing my eyes again. This was so much harder than I'd thought it would be. "But," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Things got...complicated."

"Complicated?" I heard Token ask the question but I couldn't do more than nod in answer. It took me a few seconds to be able to speak again.

"There are – certain circumstances that don't let...things like resurrection happen." I said, the words coming out of me so slowly. I didn't want to do this. I felt like I was going to be sick. Why had I thought I'd be able to handle this? I wasn't strong enough for this. I was just the poor kid from the other side of the train tracks, I wasn't...anything. I swayed on the spot, fighting to keep my balance and not drop the envelopes. "One – of those circumstances – is suicide."

I wasn't watching, so I wasn't entirely sure who did what, but I heard everyone's reactions, Tweek's loudest of all. There were gasps, a few, 'oh, God's, but Tweek's reaction was a loud, high pitched shriek, and then sobs. I felt my whole body start shaking, and a few stray tears fell from my eyes, as much as I tried to keep that from happening.

"But he's alive." Craig's voice was panicked, desperate, like he thought I'd brought them all together just to take Tweek away from him again. "He's alive, you're wrong."

"They said I could trade." My voice cracked, and I wanted to curl up in a ball and hide from everything. But I was so close to getting through everything I had to say, I had to keep going. I felt like my soul was breaking in half, but I had to. I was doing this them. They deserved the explanation.

"They _what_?" There was the same kind of desperation in Kyle's voice now, but I couldn't focus on that, or else my resolve would crumble completely. I swallowed hard.

"A trade," I repeated, louder this time. "I couldn't let Tweek stay there, and I... You're all so important to each other. If I stay dead, he can stay here, and you can all have each other... Don't," I said as Kyle started to protest. "Please." I opened my eyes, looking right into Kyle's green ones. "I need to do this," I pleaded, finally losing any ability I'd had to keep myself from crying. Tears poured down my face, making everything blurry.

"You guys don't know what it's like—" I said through sobs. "Dying, and resurrecting, and dying again, it's not _special_ , it's not _fun_ , it's just – it's awful. I can't – do it anymore, and I'm so sorry. Please don't for a second think it's because I don't love any of you, I do, all of you, you're my best friends." I couldn't stand anymore; I dropped to my knees, the envelopes I'd been holding scattering on the ground, and pressed both of my palms to my forehead. "But it's never been easy, and this, all of this – having to see you all so upset... I had to fix it, I had to do whatever I could to make it better. And when – when Tweek, when I found out – I knew what I was going to have to do." I sniffled, hiccupping as I tried to breathe. I needed to get this all out as fast as I could.

"They – God, and Satan, they said if I – sacrificed myself, to save Tweek, that that would be it. I wouldn't resurrect anymore. It was the only way, the only way to make you all happy and together..." Through my tears, I could see everyone else – everyone but 'Tophe, who was still hanging back at the edge of the group – crying too. But I could see in their eyes that they understood. Even Kyle, as he kneeled beside me and pulled me into a hug, had understanding in his eyes.

When he let go, I held my breath for a few seconds, trying to regain enough control to finish what I had to say. I didn't have much time left. "They turned back time, for you. The plane crash never happened, you're all in New York, your parents won't remember any of this," I said, moving my hair out of my face.

"Will – will we remember?" Butters' voice was so small. I would have hugged him if I'd had the strength to stand. I nodded.

"You will." I gestured to the ground, where all the envelopes were. "I – I wrote each of you a letter. There's – so much I never got to say to all of you." I closed my eyes; I was feeling so tired, and I knew it wouldn't be long now. "I have to go," I whispered, my own voice sounding far away. "Please, you guys, always remember that I love you."

_Please..._

I heard Kyle in front of me, crying and sniffling and picking up the fallen envelopes. I hoped I wasn't wrong, I hoped he and the others really did understand. There was so much more I'd meant to say when I said goodbye, I hadn't planned on falling apart like this, but it was too late now. Light was surrounding me, the bright light that came with death. I wanted to open my eyes, to get one last glimpse of my best friends, but I couldn't. All I could do now was wait to die. Satan had promised me a room in his house when I got back, and I was almost looking forward to being back there.

I hated leaving everyone behind, but I knew it was the right thing to do. I'd done what I had to. I'd brought them all back together. I knew in my heart that everything would be all right for them now.


	30. Trail Of Broken Hearts: Kyle

_One month later..._

x..x..x

It was storming again, the cracks of thunder almost loud enough to shatter my eardrums – that's how it felt, anyway. The sharp, jagged bolts of lightning were blinding, lighting up the whole world. I wrapped my old orange jacket tighter around myself, and tugged my old green ushanka farther down. The hat was almost too small for me, and I had to struggle to get it to fit over my ears; the jacket, though, still fit me almost perfectly. There was something to say for having not grown much in nine years. I looked down at my watch, squinting through the pouring rain to read the numbers displayed on the tiny screen. Almost midnight. I started walking faster, wanting to be as close to on time as I could. I would have left earlier, but I needed to make sure my parents were all the way asleep. Ike had said he'd cover for me, but I didn't want to take any chances.

I shivered as a strong gust of wind suddenly blew through the trees, the icy air slicing right through to my soul. My hands were freezing, and I shoved them roughly into my pockets, wishing I'd thought to wear gloves. I hadn't thought the storm would be as bad as it was; it was almost July, after all. This was South Park, though, I had to remind myself; a mountain town – the weather was, and always had been, unpredictable. It was fitting, in a way, though, that of all of the summer nights for it to storm like this, the universe had picked tonight. It was almost like it knew.

I came to the familiar old hidden path at the end of Main Street, beside the post office, and scrambled through the hole in the old rusty fence. It was sheltered here, with huge trees on either side of me. The noise of the thunder was less deafening here, and the lightning less bright; each bolt gave me enough light to see by, which was all I needed. I picked up my pace again, jogging now, splashing through puddles with every step. It took me only a few minutes to get to where I needed to be from here.

Everyone else was already there; I could just make out the group of them as I reached the edge of the cemetery. Well, the group of them plus one – that had to be Christophe, I thought as my stomach clenched. Inside my pocket, I touched the ring, almost putting it on but deciding against it. I picked my way across the grass, careful not to disturb anything, until I'd joined them all, in front of a newly filled grave, a large gray marble headstone marking the spot. I glanced at the shiny marble, looking away quickly; it made me sick to my stomach to see it, and to know what it meant.

As a reflex, I looked down at my watch again. I was only a few minutes late, but I still had expected Cartman to make a crack about it. There was nothing but silence, though; at the next flash of lightning, I took a quick look at everybody gathered, all of my friends minus one of the most important people I had ever known.

They were all – except for Christophe – standing in a sort-of half circle around the grave. To my left, closest to me, was Token. Beside him stood Clyde, Craig and then Tweek to Craig's left. To my immediate right was Stan, and my breath got caught in my throat when I saw him – I hadn't realized he'd been that close to me. He was wearing his old hat from third grade too, and I wasn't surprised to see that we'd had the same thought process. Butters and Cartman were next to him. And Christophe stood a short distance away, apart from everyone but still here.

Even a month later, seeing the eight of them all here still brought tears to my eyes, knowing how close things had been to ripping them – us – all apart forever. Knowing what had kept us together. I shook my head, biting my lip in an effort not to start sobbing again. I'd done nothing but cry for a month. I'd barely been able to talk to anybody, anybody who wasn't one of the eight with me now, anyway. Nobody else would understand. Nobody else really knew how important Kenny had been – still was. Not just to me, not just to us, but to the world.

We hadn't been able to stay in New York. After Kenny had – died, for the last time, my first thought was that we needed to get his body back to South Park, and his parents. But then, as I'd watched, part of me praying he was wrong and he would resurrect just like all the times before, he just sort of...faded away. There were no bright lights, nothing flashy, he was just...gone. I remembered, now, staring at the place on the grass where he'd been lying, refusing to believe he was really gone forever but knowing that everything happening was way too real.

It was then that I'd known I couldn't stay in that city, and I'd looked behind me to see, just by the looks on their faces, that everybody else was thinking the same thing. We were all emotionally exhausted, and all we wanted was to go home, where everything was familiar. Kenny had brought us all back to where we were supposed to end up in the first place, but none of us had any desire to be there anymore. Craig and Stan had volunteered to trade in the plane tickets for flights that day, and we'd caught a cab to the airport. I'd felt so guilty, like we were just brushing off one of Kenny's last wishes, but during the cab ride, I'd read the letter he'd written me, and I knew he would've understood.

In some ways, going home was the worst part of everything. The nine of us were the only ones who still had any memories about anything that had happened for that week, so we couldn't tell any of our parents the truth about why we were back so early. My mom kept asking me questions, and I knew she thought I was hiding something horrible, like we'd gotten in trouble with the police or something. I wished I could tell her everything, but I couldn't, and I knew I couldn't. The only truth I could tell her was that Kenny had died, but – like every other person in South Park – she accepted the information, but assumed that he would be okay in a few days. I couldn't explain to her how I knew for sure that he wouldn't be coming back this time. Ike had also known there was something I wasn't saying, but he'd said to me, a couple days after I'd been home, that he wasn't going to ask, but that I could talk to him if or when I was ready to tell.

I had never appreciated my genius little brother as much as I had in that moment.

Clyde and Token had gone to the McCormick's house, to try to tell Kenny's parents about his death, but, Clyde had said later, they hadn't been concerned either. Kenny was their _son_ , but his parents didn't seem to care that he was gone. In their defence, I supposed, his deaths had never given them reason to be concerned before, but this was _different_. It was so frustrating, knowing so much and not being able to convince anyone of anything. I'd taken to locking myself in my room for days at a time, because it was easier to be alone with the truth than have to face the world and lie. The only person I talked to regularly was Stan; sometimes Clyde, or Butters, or Craig would call me, but most of the time it was just Stan. The only person I wanted to talk to was Stan; he was the only person who knew me well enough for me to able to get my point across with two minutes of talking and an hour of silence.

Nobody, as far as I could tell, since coming home, had heard from Christophe.

I didn't know what Kenny had written to anybody else, and I wasn't about to ask; judging by my letter, there was something personal in each one, and that was nobody's business but Kenny's and whoever he'd written the letters to. But he'd made something very clear, in my letter, and it was because of that that the eight of us were here in the cemetery right now.

There was another flash of lightning, followed by a loud crack of thunder. I jumped at the sound, and I heard Tweek let out a small whimper. Taking the thunder as a cue to start, I cleared my throat. When I spoke, my voice was shaking. "How long have you guys been here?"

"Few minutes," came Craig's voice through the darkness. I assumed he'd come with Tweek, but at the sounds of agreement from Clyde and Token, it was evident that the four of them had gotten here together.

"Frenchy was here when we got here," said Cartman, and I looked in his direction, barely able to see him gesture to himself and Butters, it was so dark. My eyes flicked in Christophe's direction, but though I knew where he was standing, he blended in with the shadows so well it was impossible to see him.

"And I came after them," Stan said softly from beside me. He was the only one I could see clearly without the lightning acting as a split-second sun, because he was closest to me. His head was down, and from the sound of his voice he was either already crying, or on the verge.

I swallowed hard. "Oh." The word came out in a whisper, and I tried again. "Oh. Well... Thank you for coming." They hadn't had to, and I knew that. Kenny's request had been made to me, and I was the one who had requested it of the others. But they'd come – even Christophe – and I was grateful. "I... He would have appreciated that." I coughed, more in an attempt to hide the fact that I was about to start crying than anything else.

I let my eyes linger on the grave, unable to read the headstone just yet. I knew what it said – it had been Stan and I who'd decided what to put on it, after all. I just couldn't handle seeing it. Seeing it made it final, and I wasn't ready for things to be final yet.

There was a long silence, and I could only assume everyone else's eyes were drawn to the same area. I knew I should say something else. I'd organized this, I'd asked everyone to be here, this was all my doing. But I'd never held a funeral before. Memorial service, I supposed – the actual funeral had been two days earlier. Getting my parents, and everyone else's parents, to give in and actually have a funeral for Kenny had taken weeks. They just didn't see the point of 'wasting money' like that.

Part of me, the part that got petty and bitter whenever I knew that I was right and whoever was doubting me was wrong, almost couldn't wait for the day they all figured out that little Kenny McCormick was actually dead.

Tears filled my eyes and I clamped my mouth shut, feeling sick. I couldn't believe that that thought had just crossed my mind. I was being such a horrible person. I was frustrated with everyone, yes, but anticipating their grief and _enjoying_ the thought was just awful. I didn't want to be cold and heartless like that. I sniffled, letting the tears fall. I swayed slightly, and I let myself fall to my knees; it was safer to kneel on the ground than it was for me to stand. Water seeped through my jeans, but I didn't care. Water wouldn't kill me.

I felt someone's hand touch my back, lightly, and then Stan's voice whispered in my ear, "You okay, dude?"

I shook my head, my blurry vision focused on the ground. "No," I whispered back, just loud enough for Stan to hear. "I can't do this, Stan. I just... I can't—"

Without another word, Stan dropped to his knees beside me and pulled me into a hug. I hugged him back, so grateful that I had him as a Super Best Friend. There wasn't anybody else that I would ever want to fill that space in my life. My world wasn't the same without him; I knew that from experience. I wasn't okay if I didn't have Stan. I needed him.

In more ways than one, I realized suddenly, unconsciously holding on to Stan tighter as my brain finally put something together that it should have known forever ago. Being without him had hurt so much more than I'd ever thought possible. And not just because he was my Super Best Friend. It was more than that, and I knew that now. As attracted as I'd been to Christophe, to his dark eyes and 'who gives a fuck' attitude, it was Stan's confession to me, that day in my bedroom, that had made me reconsider. It was knowing that my best friend, who I'd known forever and who had known everything there was to know about me, saw me as more than just a best friend that had made me wonder if maybe I should give it a try.

That wasn't the way it worked with just anyone. If... I tried to think of the straightest person I knew. If Clyde had come up to my room and confessed to me that he'd been in love with me for years, I knew, with absolute certainty, that it wouldn't have messed me up as much. It wasn't the words that had given me reason to doubt my decision to attempt something with Christophe. It was the person saying the words. Kenny had told me to follow my heart and now my heart was screaming what my brain should have known all along.

It was Stan. It had always been Stan. I knew that now. I let go of him, leaning back to reach into my pocket and touch the red ring. Not Christophe. Even if anything had started between us, it couldn't have lasted. I would have figured out what I felt – really – eventually, and that just wouldn't have been fair to him. And I couldn't keep the ring; it had to have been expensive, and I just... I wouldn't feel right keeping it. I could just hear Kenny's laugh, and him telling me to stop being so moral, to keep it and sell it and get the money for myself, but I just couldn't. I had to give it back.

"I'll be right back," I said softly to Stan. His head was down, and I wasn't sure if he'd heard me for a minute, but then he nodded. Slowly, I stood up, brushing bits of grass and dirt off my jeans as I rose. I was so cold, and as I started walking in Christophe's direction, my heart started beating faster. I almost felt the way I'd felt on my birthday, when I'd been so ready to go through with my decision to tell him I was attracted to him. Almost, because though my body was reacting the same, right now was nothing like that day.

I glanced behind me as I moved. I couldn't look at Christophe yet; I would avoid doing that until I absolutely had to, when he was right in front of me. Craig, Tweek, Clyde, and Token had, at some point, sat down on the grass, in a sort of circle. I could hear them talking, but their voices were too low for me to actually be able to hear any of the conversation. It looked serious, though; none of their expressions were happy, and Clyde's thumb was in his mouth. Stan's back was to me, but I could see him shaking and I knew he was letting himself _really_ cry. I blinked away tears and promised myself that talking to Christophe wouldn't take me very long, so I could get back to my best friend.

I nodded slightly at Butters and Cartman as I passed them; mostly Cartman. They were both still standing, and Butters was leaning against Cartman, his eyes closed. Cartman's arm was around the little blond and when he caught my eye for a second, he nodded back. He still had yet to insult me in any way, and though I knew and understood why, and was grateful for it, it was still very disconcerting.

It seemed like it took forever before I reached Christophe. He was about ten feet behind Cartman; he'd moved farther away since I'd last looked up and seen him. He was leaning against a gravestone in the open area of the cemetery, out of the shielded clearing Kenny's grave was in. The rain had slowed considerably, only a few drops splashing down on me as I approached him. Christophe had a lit cigarette in his hand, but he was just holding it, staring across the cemetery. As I came closer, I searched my brain frantically for a way to start this conversation. I hadn't thought ahead about what I was going to say and I was regretting it.

Somehow I'd forgotten all of Christophe's special mercenary training, and how he'd probably learned a million and twelve different ways to know if someone was approaching him or not. I didn't have to say a word for him to turn his head in my direction, stand up a little bit straighter, and flick his cigarette on the ground. I watched the little stick of tobacco as it fell, landing on the grass with barely a sound; I jumped a little bit when Christophe's black boot came down hard on top of it, and I raised my head to meet his eyes.

It was always a shock to see just how dark Christophe's eyes were; the intense, almost pure, blackness of them always made me do a double-take. But even with him, just like Cartman, there was something different hidden in the blackness. I'd gotten accustomed to the hardness, the coldness in them – if I'd been trained in the same thing he'd been trained in, I might be the same way. It wasn't just that, that I saw right now though; there was something else, and I couldn't figure out what it was. After a few seconds, I realized I was staring, and, looking down at the ground again, I felt my face turn red.

"Um," I started awkwardly, keeping my eyes on one leaf that had somehow, during the storm, managed to stay completely dry. "Thank you. For. You know. Coming."

"Yes," Christophe responded, after a few seconds of silence. "You said zat."

"It just – I know it would have meant a lot. To him. Kenny." I hated myself for the way my words came out in broken stutter English, but somewhere between being next to Stan and being in front of Christophe, I'd lost my ability to speak intelligently. "So. So thank you."

"And one wonders," said Christophe, and there was something in his tone that compelled me to look up into his eyes. With a shiver that had nothing to do with the light raindrops falling on me, I again tried to decipher his expression, but couldn't. He'd lit another cigarette; it was stuck between his lips and I tore my gaze away from his to watch the end of it burn. "One wonders," he repeated, one corner of his mouth curving up slightly into a small smirk. "'Ow much does _my_ being here mean to you?"

"I..." I couldn't think of anything to say. I wasn't sure what Christophe was talking about, but from his tone I knew he had a reason for asking the question. A reason beyond the obvious, anyway. When I didn't answer, he shook his head, and tapped his cigarette on the edge of the gravestone he was leaning against.

"You do not 'ave to do zis," he said, looking out across the cemetery again. "I know zat zere is nozing more you would like to do right now than zan be wiz zem." Without looking, he gestured towards Kenny's grave, behind me. "You do not need to worry for me."

I opened and closed my mouth a few times, still not sure what to say, and just stood there, frozen. His words were so... It had sounded so _final._ I bit my lip and glanced behind me, at Stan, who hadn't moved from the position he'd been in when I'd left him. God, I just wanted to be over there with him, but I still felt like I needed to give Christophe back the ring. But that involved getting his attention again and that was proving to be difficult – considering I couldn't say a word. I wasn't even sure if he would listen to me if I tried to talk to him again.

"Go."

I jumped, turning back to Christophe. He'd crossed his arms, but other than that he hadn't moved. He hadn't even turned his head in my direction.

"W – what?" My voice cracked.

"Go," Christophe said again. "Be wiz him. 'E needs you." He shifted slightly, turning away from me, the motion being a clear way of saying that he just wanted me to go away.

I swallowed, nodding once, to myself, and pulled the ring out of my pocket. I moved forward the seven steps it took to get right next to Christophe and put the ring on top of the gravestone. He didn't even flinch. "Keep this," I said quietly. "I can't. But thank you." Slowly, I turned around and headed back over towards my super best friend in the world. I thought I heard Christophe cough, but I didn't look behind me. I couldn't even be sure he hadn't left, and I was just imagining things.

When I reached Stan, I leaned down and tapped him gently on the shoulder. He looked up at me through red-rimmed eyes, and sniffled. I tilted my head in the direction of Kenny's gravestone, and with a nod, Stan stood up. I hugged him, leaving one of my arms around him when I pulled away, and together we walked forward until we were directly in front of the gray marble slab. For the first time, I let myself read the words carved into the shiny surface, and once I'd finished, I read them again, and again. I barely noticed as Butters, Cartman, Clyde, Token, Craig, and Tweek gathered around us. I was too lost in remembering my friend, mourning the loss of one of my best friends, one of the most important, caring, most amazing people I had ever known. Tears filled my eyes, and as I let them fall, holding on as tightly as I could to my super best friend – soon to be more than that – I knew that truer words had never been written about Kenny McCormick.

_HERE LIES 18-YEAR OLD KENNY MCCORMICK._

_Fly away,  
_ _down the lonely roads of yesterday.  
_ _Close our eyes to see the light  
_ _of brighter days.  
_ _And all alone we'll be where time can never heal,  
_ _with the trail of broken hearts  
_ _flying free._


	31. Epilogue: Kenny's Letters

_Butters,_

_Hey, kiddo. How are you holding up?_

_I want you to know that I'm sorry we didn't really hang out much. Or talk, for that_ _matter. You're a good kid, and an amazing person, and I don't know if I ever really let you know_ _that in any way. You don't have a mean bone in your body, and trust me, that's a good quality to_ _have._

_I know you've had to deal with a lot of people questioning the way you live your life and_ _the decisions you've made, especially your parents. I just want you to know that even though I didn't understand your relationship with Cartman for a long time, I do now, and I'm glad you have him in your life. He makes you happy, and you make him happy, and that's exactly the kind of thing that should happen in a relationship. You're a lucky kid, Butters, and you shouldn't let anybody belittle you for your choices. You've got a good head on your shoulders, you just need to trust in your own decisions._

_As for your parents, they need to understand that you're not a little kid anymore. I'm not_ _trying to tell you not to listen to them ever, because everyone needs a mom and a dad they can count on. You just can't let them run your life – it's your life, and you need the freedom to live it; after all, you're almost eighteen. Just believe in yourself, Butters. It's cliché, but trust me – I know. Dreams do come true._

_I'm sorry I didn't really get a chance to say goodbye. There's so much I never got to say_ _to you when I had the chance. Everything happened a lot faster than I thought it would._ _Enjoy your month in New York, okay? You deserve it._

_I'm really going to miss you, kiddo._

_Don't ever change,  
_ _Kenny_

* * *

_Token,_

_Out of the ten of us that started out on this New York trip, you're the one I spent the least amount of time with, and now I can't figure out why. I always meant to, and I just don't understand why it didn't happen. I know you never appreciated Clyde's and my taste in film, but I wouldn't have minded foregoing a night of...that if it meant hanging out with you too. I still count you as one of the best friends I've ever had, but I hardly know anything about you, and that's bothering me now. I guess I thought there would be all the time in the world to really get to know you, the way I know Kyle and those guys, you know? I didn't see any of this coming. That's what happens when you take life and the people you know for granted._

_It's not your fault, by the way, in case you're blaming yourself. I know you held yourself responsible for what Tweek did, but please, don't hold yourself responsible for the end result of everything. You have to understand, it was my choice to do what I did; you can't blame yourself for my decisions. I did what I did so you all would be together, that's all I ever wanted. You were suffering, you all were suffering, and it's better this way._

_Don't worry about me. It's harder to be the one left alive than it is to die. I know you understand that._

_Take care of Clyde, okay? I have a feeling he's going to need his best friend more than ever, during the next few months. I don't know if you know anything, if he's told you anything. If he hasn't yet, he will soon. I know he will. He'll need you._

_Always remember, this was never your fault,  
_ _Kenny_

* * *

_Cartman,_

_I've known you for most of my life, but I've never pretended to understand you. There were times where I wasn't sure why I stayed friends with you, to be honest. With that being said, you should know I've defended our friendship to a lot of people. It took me a long time to be able to see past who you claim you are, and even now I don't know if I really know you. But I think I know you well enough, and that's all I can ask for._

_I got frustrated with you a lot, and a lot of those times I think you did things on purpose to frustrate me – whether you realizde it or not. I think you were trying to get me angry because you deal better with anger and harshness than with anything else. I'm not judging or faulting you for that; in a way, I understand you better now than I ever have before. It's unfortunate that it took everything going the way it did for that to happen, but sometimes that's just the way things work. I can't change anything from the past week, and I don't want to – I would rather see you all happy than anything else._

_Because as frustrated as I got with you, I've always cared about you. You're one of my oldest friends, Cartman; it would be impossible for me to have spent so much time with you and not end up caring. I'm sorry if there was ever a time you needed me and I wasn't there for you. I know your life hasn't been easy, but you're not dealing with it alone anymore, you have Butters. Let him in, dude, he loves you more than anything else in the world, and he needs you. You, not who you pretend to be. I saw you without him, you were broken almost in half, and I don't want you end up that way. But honestly, I don't think you will. I think you've become a stronger, better person, and I have a good feeling about you being okay. You can trust Butters. You just have to let yourself._

_I'm sorry for everything,  
_ _Kenny_

* * *

_'Tophe,_

_Oh, 'Tophe, what can I say to you? You've never been one for serious, emotional conversation, and considering your line of work I can understand why. You were taught to be hard and cold, to not let anybody break through your metaphorical cement walls; that I know just from being your friend for so long. Yes, 'Tophe, we were friends – at least, you were mine, whether you considered me a friend or not._

_But even with that, knowing that, during everything that happened... I feel guilty for not being there for you as much as I was there for the others. I guess part of me took everything about you at face value. You seemed to be so cold and independent, so much like all you needed was yourself and you'd be fine, that I let myself fall into the trap of believing that to be true. But it's not true, is it? Or it wasn't, at least. I saw you change, 'Tophe – before, during, and after the crash, you were a different person. Are a different person, now. You're not the 'Tophe I knew before, and I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. You seem more distant, more like you were before all of us started hanging out. Before you had friends who cared about you. You know – the people who gave you a reason to care too._

_Because you let yourself care before, about Kyle for sure, anyway. And when you were apart from him… When I found you guys in Hell that first day, I hadn't seen that much emotion in your eyes since… Well, since ever. But now I'm worried about you. I don't know what happened, or what changed, because again, I never took the time to talk to you. I was the one who was so eager for you to ask out Kyle so you guys could be together, but I never even talked to you about him after the crash, and I'm so sorry for that. I shouldn't have assumed that just because you seemed tough and unbreakable that you were. That's my fault, and now… I don't know what's going to happen._

_I wish I'd taken more time to just talk to you. I don't know if you would have talked back, but I wish I'd tried. I'm sorry, 'Tophe, I can't help but feel like you being the way you are now is partially my fault._

_Whatever you do now, whatever happens or doesn't happen with you and Kyle, I just want you to know that I hope you're happy. I mean that sincerely, because you should be happy, 'Tophe, you really should. You can't let yourself be so hard all the time, you need the ones who care. Life alone…isn't really living._

_Know that I always considered you a good friend,  
_ _Kenny_

* * *

_Craig,_

_This isn't meant to sound insensitive in any way, and I hope you'll understand how I mean this: I'm so glad that you had Tweek while you were down in Hell. Jesus, that sounds so awful even when I just write it down. But I just mean, I'm glad you weren't alone. I know – anybody with eyes, really, knows – you've never gotten along with Cartman, and I don't think you and Christophe were particularly good friends, so even without taking into account anything else, the idea of spending eternity with them had to be horrible for you. All I mean is I'm so glad you got to have the one you love, and would have had him for the rest of forever – not that you won't, I mean. I don't see anything splitting you two up, and that's a good thing._

_It's so obvious that you both need each other more than anything else in the world. Especially after last year, I'm so glad everything worked out for you two – you have no idea. You guys are my favourite couple; you always gave me so much hope, just...the way you are together. You love him and he loves you and the world needs more of that kind of unconditional forever. And when I had to tell you what had happened and where everyone else was, seeing how much it hurt you broke my heart. Not just because I could see how much pain being without Tweek was causing you – without him you've always been a different kind of Craig – but because of what you said when I told you what had happened to Clyde, and Token._

_You missed them just as much as you missed Tweek, and it was because of that that I knew I had to do something. I mean, I'd already known that I was going to go bitch at Satan and God until one of them listened to me and fixed things, but it was you and your reaction that really cemented that in my mind. You guys... The four of you guys are so close, so much closer than me and my...gang? I don't know what to call us four. I just know that you, Tweek, Clyde, and Token have always been a more tightly-knit group of friends, and I had to save that. I had to keep you guys together, whatever it took. It took me and my life, but I'm really okay with that. I'm going to miss you all – how could I not? – but it was the right thing to do, and I had to, to make everything better._

_You were probably one of my best friends, to be perfectly honest. I don't know if you ever knew that. I know I never would have broken into your inner circle, and I don't think there would have been any room there for me, really. But I'm okay with that, trust me. You don't need me to tell you this, but never let those people go, Craig – I'm pretty sure you've found the friends you're going to have forever._

_Stay together, and stay happy,  
_ _Kenny_

* * *

_Stan,_

_First, I just have to tell you I'm sorry. I hate seeing you upset or unhappy, and you were thrown into a situation that made you nothing but unhappy, and I'm sorry I had to make things worse. I just want you to understand that this was really the only way to do things that made sense. I don't know if you'll see it that way, but it was. Please just trust me, and know that I wouldn't have done anything to hurt you with the intentional goal of making you suffer in any way._

_You need your best friend, Stan, you know you need Kyle. If nothing else, just as a best friend, but don't count out anything more than that just yet, okay? I can't make any guarantees; I can't see inside Kyle's head – if anyone could, it would be you, because you guys are so close – but I've learned that there's always a chance. Giving up doesn't help anyone, and you know that even if anything were to happen between Kyle and someone else, he would still need you. I know for sure, and somewhere I know you know this too, that Kyle will always need you. You guys are super best friends, dude, that's for life. Nothing can ever change that; I can see that, and I'm just an outsider._

_I'll miss you, you know I will. And I'll never forget you. I couldn't ever; we have way too many memories, way too many things that'll remind me of you. Almost fourteen years is too long of a time for me to just forget you. I don't know if Cartman mentioned anything – he's the only one I told, when I first found him in Hell – but normally when someone ends up in Hell, over time they forget their lives on Earth because it's easier to adjust that way. I'm only telling you that because Satan promised to waive that for me – he knows that I need to remember you, all of you, and my life here. I promise I'll always remember._

_I know you wanted Kyle's birthday party to be epic, amazing, and better than last year's, and I know that it wasn't. But it's not your fault things happened the way they did. Please don't blame yourself for anything; I know you're going to be beating yourself up because the trip was your idea, but you couldn't have known. No one could have known. You were just trying to make your best friend happy by doing something amazing – and it was amazing, and it would have been such a good birthday party, it just sucks that something so bad had to get in the way. But you didn't cause it – I know you know that, but you need to believe it._

_I wish I could tell you I'd be around if you ever need me, but I can't. I won't be here, not physically, anyway. But I'll always be with you in spirit, and you can talk to me – I mean, there's ways for me to watch you while I'm down there. I'll be able to hear you. And Satan told me he's working on getting me access to dreams, so maybe I'll be able to see you when you're sleeping, dude. Even if you don't remember it when you wake up._

_I feel like there's so much more I need to say to you, but I can't find the words. Yours is one of the hardest letters I've had to write, just because of our history. I don't know what I would have done without you all these years, Stan, and I really, really hope you end up happy, whatever happens in your life now. You deserve happiness, dude, and I'll keep my fingers crossed forever for you._

_Good luck, with life, and everything,  
_ _Kenny_

* * *

_Clyde,_

_You've gone through more than your fair share of unhappiness, during this whole situation, dude. I'm so sorry. You lost more than you should have lost, and even though you got everyone back in the end, that doesn't take away how it felt. I could see that you were broken, and I was so worried about you, so worried that you weren't ever going to heal. I want you to be okay, Clyde – we hung out so much that I feel comfortable calling you a best friend, and your happiness is important to me._

_There was something else wrong too, though, wasn't there? Something aside from you being apart from your small circle of best, best friends. I could see it every time I looked at you, something huge was on your mind and weighing you down, and I meant to ask what it was. I was just so focused on wanting to get you all back together that I...ran out of time, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not being there to talk to you about it, whatever it was. I have an idea of what it might have been, but I don't want to say anything. Just in case, you know. Maybe you're not ready, maybe you don't even know. Maybe it's a subconscious kind of something._

_Except I don't think it is. Subconscious, I mean. I think you know exactly what I'm talking about, and I think you've already admitted it – at least to yourself – and it's just that you're not ready to talk about it. And I wish I had better advice for you, but I don't. All I can say is that when you're ready, really ready to trust someone enough to talk to them about it, talk to Token. I probably don't need to tell you that, since he's your best friend in the world and all, but just in case you're worried he's going to make fun of you or treat your differently. He'll understand, I know he will, and I know he'll be there for you, no matter what._

_And just so you know... Just in case you were wondering, Craig missed you. He was so glad you'd at least been good enough to make it to Heaven, but it was so easy to see that not having you around seriously bothered him. You're important to him. Just so you know; you don't ever have to worry that you're not._

_You're a good person, Clyde. You ended up in Heaven for a reason, and I know that you'll find happiness – maybe just not in the places you think you will, and maybe not when you're looking for it._

_I'm glad I got to know you as well as I did,  
_ _Kenny_

* * *

_Tweek,_

_God, Tweek, I'm so sorry. You can't understand how sorry I am that any of this made you feel the way you did, that it made you feel that you had to do to yourself what you did. It breaks my heart to know that you felt so awful about losing Craig that you would even consider that._

_I'd known being without him was going to upset you, because I know how much you love him. I know he's your world, always has been and always will be. I just didn't ever think you would do anything like that – so actually, maybe I didn't know just how much you love him. I didn't know you could love him any more than it seemed you did, but you proved me wrong. I hate the reason behind you two being together in Hell, but at the same time, I'm glad you got to be with him. If I hadn't been able to fix everything, at the very least the two of you would have stayed together forever. And you need to be together._

_It killed Craig inside to be without you. I know, because I saw him. He needs you, Tweek, just like you need him, but I think... I think he needs you more. He isn't the same without you. That's why I think you two are just meant to be together – and I can tell that you both feel that way too. It's good, it's a really, really good thing that you've managed to find each other when you've got your whole lives to be together. Some people don't find their soul mates for years. You two are so lucky, but I know that you both are already perfectly aware of that._

_I need to tell you not to hate yourself for anything, because I know you most likely are. I chose to do what I did, and I was completely aware of the consequences. It was my decision, because I knew I couldn't separate you and Craig again, and I couldn't let you both stay in Hell because Token and Clyde need the both of you too. All I've ever wanted to do in this life is help the people I care about in any way that I can, and I did that. However it happened doesn't have to matter, all that matters is that you guys are all alive and together._

_It's better for things to be this way, and I'm not just saying that to make you feel better. I trust you enough to tell you the truth, Tweek, and I promise you that this is the way everything should be. I was the only one who could make the choice, and I made it because I was thinking about your, and everyone else's, happiness. I did what was best for all of you. And I'll be okay down there, it's almost like a second home to me. And I have friends there, I won't be alone, but nobody will ever replace the friends I had up here, and I'll always remember you._

_All I ever wanted was for you to be happy,  
_ _Kenny_

* * *

_Kyle,_

_I'm...so sorry, Kyle, you have no idea how hard this was for me to do. I wish I'd had more of a chance to say goodbye to you, I hate that everything happened so fast. I'm sorry I didn't tell you ahead of time what I was going to do – I just knew you would try to stop me...and I don't know if I would have been able to say no to you. I had to do what I did, I had to make everything better for everybody. It was... I couldn't let you all be away from each other. I just couldn't, and I was the only one who could fix it._

_Do you remember when we were younger, and you all thought my dying/coming back was so cool? It's not. I used to always tell you guys that, and I understand why you never believed me – I mean, we were kids, it was like a superhero thing. But it's hard, it was so hard wondering every day if that was the day I was going to die forever, and knowing that even if it was, nobody would know._

_Because you wouldn't, there would be nothing separating a permanent death from one of my regular everyday deaths, and even after months, or years, I'm not sure if any of you would have ever really believed that I was really gone. That's such a depressing thought, I know, but it's the kind of thing I thought about. I never brought it up with you, or anyone, because I didn't want to bring any of you down. Dying and resurrecting was my burden, not anyone else's. Especially not yours; I would have done anything to keep you from ever being unhappy, Kyle. You're... You were my best friend. Ever. Stan's your super best friend, and that's how it should be, but you were always the one I cared about the most. You're my favourite, and I never told you that, but I'm telling you now. I always worried about you before anyone else, because you're...you. You're my Kyle Broflovski._

_And it's because I trust you more than anyone else that I'm asking you for this favour: when you go home from New York, after you guys have your month here, I want you to have a funeral for me. I never really leave a body behind – something to do with the resurrecting, I think – but that doesn't really matter to me. I just want...a grave, a gravestone, or something. Just proof that I existed, and that I died, and that it's real this time. I want something people can look at so they can see that yes, I was real, I was really here. It sounds so selfish, but I want to be remembered, Kyle. I want the world to know I was a part of it. I want proof that someone cared enough to preserve my memory somehow._

_I hope you understand. The last thing I want is for you to resent me for any of the choices I've made. I just... I really hope you can see how I thought that this was the right course of action. And I hope that you're happy, with life, and love, and everything. Whether you decide you want to be with Christophe, or Stan, just know the most important thing for you to do is follow your heart – it's cliché, but it's true. Your heart will tell you what it really wants, without all the second-guessing and doubting and uncertainty that your brain will throw at you. I should have told you that from the very beginning, and I'm sorry that I didn't – I just wanted you to be happy so much I pushed for the thing that seemed on the surface like it would make you the happiest._

_God, Kyle, I'm going to miss you so much. If there's any way for me to come back, at all, I promise that you'll be the first to know. Somehow, some way, I will let you know._

_I love you, so much,  
_ _Kenny_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it this far, thank you, and I appreciate you!
> 
> The ending of this story leaves some potential for more, and I have a whole bunch of ideas for continuations/spinoffs, so if you want more of this world, look for those.


End file.
